


Drifting in Shadows, Waiting for the Storm

by Macx



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-18
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelina's appearance and her brief but stormy connection with Monroe left the blutbad with a bad aftertaste. Now Nick's life hangs in the balance and whatever that is between them, he needs to figure it out soon or it might be too late.</p><p>Spoilers for Danse Macabre and The Three Bad Wolves</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally planned to write an episode tag to The Three Bad Wolves, but then this got away from me... *hangs head* I'm so, so bad at writing short fics...

It was a typical late autumn day in Portland. The leaves were turning golden and burnt orange, interspersed with a deep red. The weather was unpredictable and right now the sky was covered by dark clouds that threatened rain. The temperatures had dropped over night and winter was announcing itself. Still, it would be a few more weeks. Then the first snow would make the street treacherous, there would be overnight frost and iced-over streets, and finally real winter.

Detective Nick Burckhardt entered the small corner mart he liked to frequent when he drove from home to the precinct. It was perfectly located, had a wide variety of ‘cop food’ to go, and sometimes they also had the most wonderful donuts. In the morning there was usually a ‘rush hour’, which meant customers piling into the small sales area, then, just as suddenly, it was quiet again. Nick came after the rush.

A middle-aged woman looked up from where she was polishing the oak countertop near the front of the store. She was about a head smaller than him, slender, with a lean figure that reminded one of a dancer, and chestnut hair that fell down to her waist. She had bound it back into a pony tail. She smiled at him, giving the young detective a nod, then went back to her cleaning.

Until a few months ago, Nick hadn’t known the woman was more than she seemed. Her name was Clari Woods and she was a Grimm creature. It had been an awkward moment right after Aunt Marie’s death when Nick’s abilities had flared to full power and he had easily looked past her everyday face and seen hare-like features. She had stared at him in sudden terror and only because he had known her for three years now hadn’t she bolted.

Nick had told her that he wasn’t ‘that kind of Grimm’, that he didn’t hunt and kill, that he was a cop foremost and a Grimm if he had to be. Clari had quieted down after a while; ever since they had slowly become something like friends. She wasn’t like Monroe, a well of information and snarky banter, but she had helped him clear the mystery of the fridge repair guy.

The beaver-like creatures were mortally frightened of Grimms, even though they were far from aggressive, more like victims, not unlike the reinigen, and ran before even thinking about standing up to someone.

“I didn’t do anything, Clari,” Nick had insisted as they had talked over a donut and coffee before work.

“It’s their nature, detective.”

She refused to call him Nick.

“I wish I could tell him I’m not out to hurt him.”

“He wouldn’t believe you.”

“Would you know how to give him a message? That I apologize? That I’m not playing games and won’t hurt him?”

She hadn’t answered, but a week later she had handed him a donut without Nick ordering one.

“From Bud.”

And that was that. Nick felt a little better, but he still wished he could have told the man face to face. He hated the fear in the faces of those who didn’t even know him. It was worse than the anger and hatred of the others who only saw him as a Grimm.

Monroe was a refreshing difference to that.

Ever since the disaster with the Lassers, though, their relationship had ground to a halt and Nick felt more pained about that than he would have thought.

Because there had been something there, low-burning and hesitant, and it had developed over beers and talks and shared banter. The arrival of Angelina had torn the flimsy connection they were building apart and Nick hadn’t felt jealous, no. He couldn’t have. He was in a good relationship, right?

One that was fraying because of the secrets.

One where Juliette was shooting him strange looks sometimes, asking wordless questions.

One where he spent more and more time at work.

Eddie had noticed, of course. Not that he truly complained about a Grimm hanging out more and more at his own home. There was the snarking, sure. There was the remark about getting him his own key. There had been the hasty reassurance that Angelina had been a past relationship.

Until the two had gone romping in the woods. And hadn’t that left a sour feeling…

Nick didn’t know where he stood, only that his old life was falling apart and his new one was tearing him apart.

“The usual, detective?” Clari asked with a smile.

“Yes, thanks.”

Hank loved the sweets from this place and Nick had lost a bet that could only be paid by half a dozen donuts and the best roast. It had taken Nick a while to find out that Clari got the donuts from a small bakery that belonged to her sister and brother-in-law, who was a hare as well, and that both catered successfully to parties, weddings and birthdays.

Sturdy wooden shelves held neat rows of various shopping goods. In the back was a fridge and this was where Nick was headed. The scent of lemon polish mixed with the faint odor of wood. An antique cash register rested on the counter. A telephone sat on a shelf behind. Nick walked past the shelves and studied the cans of soft drinks in the fridge, then took out two, added a cheese and ham sandwich, and headed back to the register.

Someone else had entered the store while he had been at the fridge. Nick felt a small tingle run down his spine, something he called his 'internal alarm'. The new customer was a nervous, scruffy-looking boy, about eighteen years old, standing at the counter. Then his alarm screamed out full force as the youth pulled a gun and pointed it at Clari. The youth's arm shook slightly.

"Money!" he demanded, voice shaking as well.

Clari’s eyes were wide and she had paled dramatically. Hare-creatures were easily startled and while they would fight back, they would rather run. Clari had shared a few stories about her kind with Nick over a coffee one morning and he had been thankful to her for giving him this insight. He didn’t think he would run into her kind as troublemakers, but every little bit helped. Like knowing about Bud.

The Grimm stopped dead in his tracks, but he had come too close. The boy saw him and turned away from the cash register.

He pointed his weapon towards him.

The trigger finger twitched.

Oh, crap!

It was all that coursed through his mind.

Nick tried to duck out of the way as the youth fired two quick rounds. A bottle shattered behind him. A burning pain seared through his right side. More pain exploded in his head and he fell face down onto the floor. His chest was on fire, his head was a mass of agony. Blinding lights danced in front of his eyes and it was hard to breath.

And then there was nothing.

*

His name was John Lawrence and he had thought this would be such an easy coup. A small mart with no security detail and with only the owner manning the cash register. Just go in and get the money, then run. No one knew him here and by the time they knew what had happened, he'd be out of the state. Now things had complicated several times. He stood motionless at the counter, an expression of shock mixed with fear on his face.

Finally he approached the fallen man cautiously. He stood over the guy, shaking slightly as he pointed the gun at him. The man didn't move and he lightly kicked him in the ribs, but there was no response. A stronger kick elicited a moan. Relieved that the man was still alive, the youth moved his free hand through his long, dirty blonde hair.

He had shot a man. All he had wanted to do was rob a cash register and now he had shot a man!

"Goddamit!"

* * *

She had been bad for him.

Right from the very first day.

Back then Monroe hadn’t been the blutbad he was today and still… She had always been wild, she had been unrestrained, and while she had accepted her brother’s reformation as a wieder-blutbad, she had never understood that Monroe had wanted to be tame.

She had been amazing.

They had been amazing. It had been so good and they had been so bad, running free, following instinct, being what was deep inside them: wild.

Eddie blinked hard at the tears in his eyes, the memories of such good time, of Hap and Angelina and Rolf. They hadn’t been a pack; packs were bad, really, really bad. They had been friends and they had had good times together, until he had drawn the line.

He had reformed.

He had become good.

Now, after years, Angelina had come back, they had had fun… and he had strayed from his path. He had lost himself in his instincts, had broken past all his so carefully erected barriers, and he had tasted animal flesh and blood.

Eddie had felt sick to the core the moment he had realized it.

It had been even worse when that reality had included the dead body of Hap Lasser, inside his home, shot four times, killed in cold blood. Executed.

Because he had followed his nether instincts! Because he had let himself want something that wasn’t right. He had run after Angelina and the rush had taken every logical thought from him. He could hardly remember anything but the need and the desire and the pent-up emotions…

And Nick’s words that Angelina was bad for him hadn’t helped.

Monroe swallowed hard.

Pent-up. Locked away. Bad. Restrained. Leashed.

He been in control of himself until the day Nick Burckhardt had barged into his life, had turned everything upside down. After that very first day…

Chaos.

Now she was gone, her brothers dead, her revenge and the ancient feud maybe over. Just maybe. Monroe couldn’t be sure; only that he wouldn’t go back to what he had been ever again. He wouldn’t follow her.

‘Don’t push it.’

Nick had tried to talk to him several times since Angelina’s disappearance, but Monroe wasn’t ready to face the Grimm. The nerve to ask him to help find Angelina…!

He knew he had been rude hanging up on Nick, but at the time his emotions had been in turmoil and one more word out of Nick’s mouth and he would have lost it.

In a way. Well, kinda…

Monroe sighed and tried to concentrate on the old clock he was currently working on. For the past hour he had fiddled with the delicate cogs and springs; he wasn’t any further than before. Maybe he had made it even worse.

Outside it was pouring down like there was no tomorrow. It had started an hour ago, with just a light spatter, but then the weather had really hit Portland. The streets were flooding, the sky a leaden gray, the clouds hanging heavy and low. It was cold and nasty, the wind picking up, and the steady pounding against his roof and windows was kind of calming. But not enough.

It would get worse according to the forecasts.

Nick had come by twice after that, on the very same day. Knocking, ringing, knocking again. Eddie had ignored him.

After that there had been messages on his answering machine, a few more personal visits, then – the guts! – a gift basket left on his door step.

Well, the vegetables had been organic, the tofu from his favorite organic shop, and there had been two bottles of a very nice red wine.

After that, silence.

Not a single word.

In the beginning Eddie had enjoyed his Grimm-free days, but after a week of not a single peep, not even another attempt to reconcile, he had started to worry. A Grimm’s job never ended and Nick always had one question or another, and he sometimes dropped by just for… what? The company?

Now there was only silence.

It was starting to unnerve the blutbad.

After another week he was ready to call the precinct, just to confirm Nick was okay.

He didn’t.

Had he driven the Grimm away? And if yes, why did it hurt?

Eddie hadn’t wanted to become a Grimm’s sidekick/babysitter/nanny/whatever in the first place. He had wanted his peace.

Ever since Nick Burckhardt had accused him of kidnapping a young girl, the peace had gone out the window fast.

And he had enjoyed it.

Damn!

Monroe would be lying if he said he hadn’t found the whole partnership just a little bit exciting. For various reasons. He wasn’t a people person and never would be; loner was a good description for him. But Nick… Nick had exploded into his life with demands and requests and questions and beer and good company. He had truly enjoyed himself. He had enjoyed being around someone else. He had enjoyed Nick.

He liked Nick.

He liked a Grimm.

Eddie was close to banging his head against an available hard surface.

 

Outside, the world was flooded by water.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course the shots had drawn attention. And it had been John’s very bad luck that a squad car had just stopped outside the corner market. If he had paid attention, he would have known that the cops liked to come by because of the good coffee and donuts.

He hadn’t paid attention.

He was paying for that now.

“Tell them to go away!” he screamed at the owner, who was kneeling next to the man he had shot.

A man who was bleeding badly.

She looked at him, frightened, eyes wide, face pale. “He needs a doctor,” she only said.

“Fuck!” he cursed, pacing.

*

Hank had been told about the hold-up at a place where his partner loved to get them their favorite donuts from, a place that was conveniently located for him to buy those caloric nightmares that tasted soooo good.

Officers were already on the scene.

Hank picked up his cell and tried to call Nick. He got no answer.

*

Nick opened his eyes as he felt a wave of agony spread across his chest. A face swam into focus and he discovered the gunman bending over him, his face contorted in rage. He grabbed his shirt and pulled his face close to his and screamed,

"Why did you have to be here?!"

He shoved the detective back onto the floor. Blood from the growing stain on the Nick’s side was smearing his palm and he wiped it off quickly.

Nick slowly turned slightly onto his side. "Sorry for the inconvenience," he gasped, as the pain subsided to a constant ache.

"Damn you!" The youth backhanded him across the face with the butt of the gun.

Nick was knocked onto his back. The gunman hit him again, opening a deep cut above his left eye. He snatched the gunman's wrist to block the next blow. The youth grabbed the gun with his other hand and brutally struck Nick across the face. A gash opened on his left cheek. The boy reversed his hold on the gun, and pointed it at the stunned man. He ran his other hand through his hair.

"Great, just great."

It was all Nick heard, then he slipped into the merciful darkness of unconsciousness.

* * *

There was a camera team outside, braving the weather, just like the four officers who had blocked the streets and were waiting for SWAT to act.

One of their own was inside.

Hank felt sick and dizzy at the thought of Nick in there, on his own. He knew the younger man was very well capable of holding his own, but the fact that he was on the floor, barely visible, didn’t even try to text him, was worrying.

Damnit, it was terrifying.

That the shooter had screamed at them that he had hostages and wouldn’t mind shooting them again hadn’t helped.

Actually, it had brought Renard on the scene. For a store robbery! Shit, it spoke volumes.

“We can’t confirm it’s Nick, but the shooter claims he has only two hostages and the SWATs saw the woman who owns the store.”

Renard’s features were a mask, the eyes hard and merciless. Hank had seen him like that on occasions before and he knew their captain would allow for kill shots if things got even more out of control.

“We’re ready, captain,” the SWAT team leader announced calmly.

Renard nodded.

Paramedics were already standing by.

“Do it.”

*

Clari sat silently next to the severely injured Grimm, her smaller hand holding his lax one, eyes on the shallow rise and fall of his chest. She had tried to stop the blood flow and it had slowed down to a trickle, but she wasn’t fooled. He had lost a lot of blood and the red stain on his shirt was mocking her efforts. The smell of blood nauseated her more than the man with the gun.

Nick’s eyes cracked open, the gray eyes cloudy, barely conscious. She smiled at him, squeezing his hand.

Clari Woods had never met a Grimm before in her life, a circumstance she had felt didn’t leave her missing out on anything. Grimms were nightmares from children’s tales to scare the young and terrify the older. They were executors of the worst kind, judge and jury and merciless in their hunt of creatures. She had always imagine them as fiery eyed, cold and bloodlusting, asking no questions, making no difference between the predators and the prey creatures.

Until Nick Burckhardt had come into her life. One day he was the handsome young cop who frequented her store, the next day she got bad vibes off him. She still remembered his own confusion, his brow wrinkling as he looked at her, and her own fear of what she felt from him.  
Grimm.

She hadn’t been able to give it a name right away, but somehow, like he was able to see her true face, she knew what he was. A primal instinct, a fear that sucked at her soul and settled deep in her bones.

And he had been so intent on telling her he wasn’t like that, that he didn’t want to hurt her, that he was a cop and he would only hunt or arrest the bad ones. Clari had been too terrified at first to react, but his gentle manner, his open and honest face, and those wide gray eyes had worked at her doubts.

Nick was a good guy, a good Grimm. Maybe the only one.

She stroked over his sweaty hair and he whispered something, but she couldn’t make it out. She murmured soft reassurances.

A hare comforting a Grimm. It was almost too much. She would have laughed if the shooter wasn’t so close and so trigger-happy. Currently he was pacing just out of sight of the store window, away from a possible sniper, and Clari knew that one would be out there. Her instincts told her things would go down soon, one way or another.

All she wanted to do was make sure Nick made it out of this one alive; and would survive.  
Because losing this man, a Grimm who cared about the creatures and was so much more than the horror of her childhood, was precious. She had told Bud and the biber had reluctantly agreed, though he was a lot more paranoid than her. Almost like a reinigen and the relations were there.

*

On some level, Nick was still aware of what was happening around him.

It was cold.

There was a sound.

It was a voice, he decided. He couldn't make out the words, but he was sure someone was talking. The voice was harsh, cold, commanding.

There was touch.

Someone was holding his hand. No, he was clinging to someone, with all his strength born out of pain.

The pain.

Too bad he remembered that, too.

It pulsed through his body, centered in his right side where it burned with white-hot intensity whenever a muscle twitched. He knew he was bleeding, had lost blood, and he felt the light-headedness associated with blood loss.

"Detective?"

The voice was soft, unlike the other, and he managed to crack his eyes open with an effort.

It was still cold.

Clari. It was Clari. She looked the hare the was, terrified but holding it together, holding his hand, holding him. There was blood on her hands and she was trembling, but her large brown eyes held a core of steel.

He gave her a weak smile.

The pain was agony. It was everywhere, leeching his strength, making him fuzzy.

He was cold. So cold. He was shaking and couldn't stop and each shiver sent slivers of more pain through his body.

So cold.

He started to drift again and tried to anchor his thoughts somewhere, but they slipped away, into murky waters.

Nick swallowed against the pain and bit back a little moan. He had to fight to stay alive.

But it was hard.

And it was getting colder.

*

When the SWAT team burst through the front door and the storeroom entrance, Clari threw herself over the semi-conscious Grimm, trembling, making soft noises of fear.

Nick’s hand twitched and to her it seemed like he was trying to find a weapon, to defend himself and maybe her. His eyes were mostly unfocused, but she saw a spark in there, deep down in the slate gray, and for a wild second she felt the Grimm come forth, felt his powers, and she shrank back, only to feel one of his hands grab her shirt.

Their eyes met and the hare was fixated by something she recognized deep down inside and respected. She saw him, the true Grimm, what was in his innermost soul, and in that second she knew.

His eyes tried to focus on a threat, but she whispered, ‘No.’

A silent question.

“SWAT,” she managed, voice trembling, still only looking at him, not at what was happening, not listening to the shouts and the shots being fired.

It was over so fast, but for her it had been a lifetime.

"Stay right where you are! Keep your hands where I can see them!" The SWAT officer pointed his rifle at John's head.

The world snapped back into ‘play’ and Clari felt someone touch her shoulder.

“Ma’am?”

It was one of the SWAT men, dressed in black, geared up, armed to the hilt, and Clari felt even more frightened.

“It’s over. You can let him go. Paramedics are coming in.”

She looked back, found confirmation in the too pale face, then Nick’s eyes slid shut again.

Everything started to happen very quickly. Lawrence was handcuffed and read his rights, his face holding a kind of stunned surprise. He was dragged out of the store, that was slowly filling with police and paramedics. Clari was helped to her feet and a police officer and a paramedic guided her out of her store to sit down outside. The paramedic examined her, but all the blood on her clothes was Nick’s.

Something prickled at the back of her neck and she looked around, but saw only more police heading toward her store.

 

Hank stopped in shock as he discovered Nick on the floor, the blood-smeared shirt like a beacon. A paramedic pushed past him with a quick apology, kneeling down beside the barely conscious man where his colleague was already examining Nick. They worked quickly but surely.

Hank hovered behind them, trying not to be in the way, but also knowing he was nothing but a spectator. The lump in his stomach twisted into a hard knot when he saw the full extent of Nick's injuries. The medics worked furiously to stabilize him. Two large intravenous needles were inserted, the wound's blood flow stanched, and fluids pumped into the fading man. They quickly lifted Nick onto the stretcher and rushed him to a waiting ambulance.

He turned and discovered Renard, the captain’s face a mask, but his eyes showed what he felt.

“Go with them,” he only said and Hank nodded, running toward his car.

The ambulance was screaming and already rushing off. Hank wasn’t far behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Angelina had looked at him as if he had lost his marbles and maybe he had. Maybe the whole run in the woods had simply been to unleash what he wanted and couldn’t get. What he couldn’t even dream of ever touching.

Monroe heard a groan and it was his own.

He was yearning for something forbidden, deadly, probably fatal. He wanted Nick Burckhardt, in a really good way, and it would be the last thing he ever did if the Grimm found out.

Angelina suspected it.

Eddie had never told her in so many words, but protecting Nick, holding her back, allowing the detective into his home to question her… and the way he had insisted they were in the past.

A healthy, strong and wild blutbad female wanted him and he had declined; at least until that night. That damned night!

He had promised Nick that Hap would be safe; he would keep him safe. Now the blutbad was dead and Eddie felt like pond scum. Not so Angelina; she was torn up over the death, but there had never been any admission of guilt. She had followed her instincts. Like good blutbaden should do.

Eddie scrubbed a hand over his face.

Shit! Damnit! Fuck!

Three weeks after the whole fiasco there was still silence.

It was about that time that Eddie confessed to himself that he missed the Grimm. He missed his presence in Monroe’s home, the lingering scent trail he left as he moved through the house, the beers they shared, the questions he asked, the smiles… the teasing… the banter…  
Eddie groaned and let his head bang gently against the wall. He had abandoned the clock, had tried himself at work around the house, and had finally grabbed a bottle of wine and gulped down the first glass.

He had told Nick the truth about no longer loving Angelina. It had been lust and the fact that he hadn’t had any since… well… since giving up the animal, becoming a better person…

Normal instinct; simple lust.

To take the edge off.

And it had gotten Hap killed.

Everything was coming back to that. Nick’s expression as he had looked at him, a kind of disappointment that had torn into Monroe like a knife.

Angelina had been all furious anger and hatred; Eddie had been numb realization that he had messed up. He had gotten Hap killed.

His best friend in the blutbaden world. The only other of his kind he would trust not to kill the Grimm. Geez, remembering how Hap had looked at the young detective, all easy acceptance and curiosity. So different from his sister, who had wanted to kill Nick and eat him.

It made Eddie sick to the core.

Because while he wanted Nick, too, wanted to taste him, it was in a completely different way.

But now… it was messed up. Everything.

Abandoning the wine – he had had enough already, even for a blutbad -- he switched on the TV, cruising through the channels.

He stopped at the local news channel and felt his blood run cold as the words of the reporter on a crime scene registered.

Officer shot in attempted robbery.

Police had just ended the whole situation with the robber alive but injured through a bullet.

And Eddie’s eyes were on the face of the police officer in question, pale and covered in blood, strapped to a gurney and rushed to a waiting ambulance.

Nick. It was Nick. Bleeding; heavily. Face bloodless except for what was smeared on it. Monroe was no medical professional, just a dangerous predator who knew about prey and killing it.

So much blood…

His world started to tilt.

* * *

As the ambulance howled through the town and toward the hospital, Nick's blood pressure continued to drop despite the rapid infusion of fluids. His heart rate remained fast. As they rounded the final curve, Nick went into cardiac arrest.

* * *

The storm had hit Portland. The forecasts had been correct that it would be a big one and people should stay inside. Wind whipped the rain over the streets, almost horizontal, making umbrellas useless toys that soon were torn out of the hands of those who were still braving the weather.

The drive over to the hospital had been hazardous, the bug’s wipers unable to clear the water fast enough even in a high setting, and Eddie had almost driven by instinct alone. He had sat in the parking lot for long minutes, the pounding of the rain on the metal the only sound. Finally he got out and ran across the lot and into the hospital.

He was drenched, hair clinging to his scalp, but he didn’t care.

The nurse who manned the desk did, though. She scowled at the puddles he left, but he wasn’t the only one. Monroe ignored her and slunk away into a corner, then headed into the men’s room to dry himself. He knew he couldn’t ask for Nick directly, mainly because he was in surgery right now and his friends and colleagues would be in soon. If someone else asked for the injured detective before them, the nurse would probably point him out.

So he made himself as invisible as a blutbad could be and waited.

Watching those friends and colleagues arrive.

Watching them as they waited.

Listening in as a doctor finally told them that Nick had been wheeled to intensive care.

"The bullet did a lot of damage," the slightly tired looking man said. "He dropped a lung and it was touch and go for a while. We stabilized him and he is responding to all the fluids we are pumping into him. The next twenty-four hours will be critical, but if he gets through that, I think he'll be fine."

Monroe felt like he was falling into a black hole. It was relief and dread, both rushing at him, and he barely had the strength to keep up the facade.

He wanted to hit something; he really wanted nothing more than to follow his primal instincts, find the shooter and tear him into little bite-sized pieces!

He had to leave then and there, taking a long, calming walk in the wet-cold weather. No rain, thankfully, just the humidity and the cold.

Nick was fighting for his life and there was not a damned thing he could do.

There was nowhere else to be, nothing else to do.

So Monroe returned after two hours, noticeably calmer, and found that the officers had left.

Thankfully.

He would stay as long as it remained possible for him to do so.

Even if the coffee was a disaster.

* * *

He was aware of the blutbad. It would be his shame if he hadn’t been all the time.

Cold eyes regarded the man in the brown cardigan, sitting on a chair and trying not to get noticed. Tall, hair messy from the humidity, with large hands and a rather understated dress-style. The eyes were dark with worry and he looked almost lost.

His smile was cool.

As if a blutbad could blend in. As much as they were predators, this one hadn’t been prowling for a long, long time. At least not to kill.

As curious as that was, it was even more curious how the Grimm had won this one’s loyalty. Then again, he should have expected Nick Burckhardt to be very different from his aunt. The woman had been overstepping her boundaries. She had killed mercilessly, without discretion, and she had left a trail of fear and pain.

Her heir was different.

When she had reappeared in his territory there had been only one solution to the problem. The reapers had been chasing her, yes. They always chased a Grimm. She would have left Portland again before her time was up and if they had caught her somewhere else, the transfer of power would have caught Nick unawares.

So he had pushed things along a little, had steered them to where he had wanted them to. Marie Kessler had died before the cancer could take her life and her nephew had become her heir.

Him he could accept.

Grimms weren’t his enemies, but he liked them to be less murderous hunter-killers and more what he recalled them to be: protectors, arbitrators, profilers.

Ah yes, good old times.

With a last look he left the hospital.

* * *

It was impossible to get near Nick while he was in intensive care, but it didn’t keep Eddie from hanging around. He saw people come and go, tried not to throw up from the smells, and he wished he could switch off his sensitive hearing sometimes.

Time went by.

A couple talked in hushed voices about their child, which had been involved in a road accident with a bike. They were called by a nurse after about half an hour of waiting.

"Are you waiting for news on a friend?"

The question made him look up from his intense study of the gray floor. An old woman sat not far away, her hair grayish white and pulled back in a bun. Lively blue eyes regarded him curiously, but also with sympathy.

"Yes," he answered, thinking it would be extremely impolite to ignore her.

"Family?"

Monroe shook his head. "Close friend."

There was period of silence.

"My husband was brought here because he had a heart attack," the old woman then said as if to herself. "They say it is very bad."

Monroe looked at her, searching for words of sympathy, but found none. He had never been good at it anyway. "Oh," was all he managed. "I'm sorry."

But the woman smiled. "Bert lived a full live. If he dies now, I know he won't die with any regrets, except maybe leaving me behind alone."

Monroe licked his dry lips.

"Your friend," the woman then said, startling him a bit. "What happened?"

"He was shot.”

There was a slightly shocked expression on her face. "Oh. Are you with the police?"

"He is. It was a robbery."

"I'm sure he will be all right," the woman said with total conviction.

Monroe couldn’t be sure. He had heard what the doctor had said and he had never been one to believe in miracles.

"He will be all right,” she repeated, as if she did know. “You have to believe in it. If you lose hope, you lose yourself."

He forced a smile, nodding.

"Mrs. Wright?"

A nurse had approached them, looking at the old woman, shooting him a brief glance.

The gray-haired woman stood. "Yes?"

"If you'd please accompany me? Dr. Lang would like to talk to you."

Monroe saw how she squared her shoulders, ready to accept the worst. Before she left, Mrs. Wright turned back to him. "Don't lose hope, my friend," she told him once again. Then she was gone.

Eddie just leaned back his head and closed his eyes, feeling like he might have to take another walk before matters boiled up again.

 

He left an hour later as the nurses were giving him more inquiring looks. Monroe made himself scarce once more, driving aimlessly until he found himself in front of his house.

Monroe walked inside like on automatic, feeling tired, close to exhausted, but his mind was burning with the image of Nick covered in blood, so pale and ghost-like, so close to death.

He couldn’t lose the Grimm; not like that.

Not ever.


	4. Chapter 4

Monroe continued to come at different times, slip close to the ICU one night when the night nurse wasn’t watching, but he couldn’t get close enough.

It was eating him up.

It had him lose sleep and slip up on his work schedule for his customers’ clocks.

The nightmares didn’t help either.

 

It also had him on edge and a lot more volatile, which was dangerous. Just how dangerous showed when his sensitive nose picked up a very distinctive smell around the ICU. He lurked in the shadow, watching a young, blonde woman in a white coat browsing through a patient’s file, always looking toward Nick’s room.

The blutbad pulled back lips over growing fangs, feeling the wolf come forth.

She took the file and approached the room, but when another nurse entered, she veered off and quickly headed away.

Monroe followed.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening, and he moved fast.

His clawed hands curled around her slender, perfectly smooth neck and Monroe growled, clearly seeing past her everyday face. As beautiful as she was, the hexenbiest underneath was not.

“What do you want?” he whispered, putting just enough pressure on her to make her gasp.

“Nothing,” she replied. “And it would be better if you took your hands off me.”

Monroe growled. “Once more: what do you want from the Grimm?”

“Nothing!” she spat, struggling.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“If we wanted him dead, he would already be!”

He pushed her hard against the wall, squeezing her throat. “Touch him and you and all your sisters will die!”

“He’s in no danger from us,” she wheezed.

The blutbad released her with a snarl. “Then why are you here?”

“To keep him safe.”

“Safe?” He almost laughed. Instead he bared his teeth, impressive fangs that could tear out her throat. “Why would you want to guard a Grimm?”

The hexenbiest composed herself, straightening, looking into his eyes. She wasn’t really frightened, just cautious, and Monroe knew they were cunning creatures. Whoever she worked for, she would be completely loyal to him, following his orders. So someone had told her to protect a Grimm.

“Those are my orders.”

“From whom?!”

She snorted. “You really expect me to answer that?”

“Stay away from him,” the blutbad said harshly, so close to just letting go and have instinct deal with this creature.

“As long as I am here, he won’t be in any danger,” she replied reasonably. “There are those out there just waiting to get rid of this Grimm.”

Monroe snarled. “Why should I believe you? No hexenbiest ever protected a Grimm!”

“No blutbad either,” she replied with a fine smile. “But this one is different, isn’t he? And my orders are clear. As long as Nick Burckhardt is in this hospital, I will take care of him.”

She neatly slid past him and straightened her clothes. Monroe watched her, eyes narrowed to slits, red and dangerous. His lips were still pulled back over his impressive fangs.

The hexenbiest nodded once, then quickly moved away.

Monroe stayed where he was, his blood boiling with the anger he felt, with the aggression toward the other creature. He forced himself to calm down, locked the inner beast away with an effort, and finally leaned against the wall.

Damn.

He inhaled sharply, running a shaky, clawless hand through his already unruly hair.

A hexenbiest was prowling through the hospital, claiming to protect the Grimm. It was laughable!

Monroe pulled a bottle of water from one of the dispensing machines and sat down.

But what if it was true? What if someone had ordered the hexenbiest to protect him? Then the next question would be `who?`, quickly followed by `why?`.

He drank the cool water, finally a lot calmer.

Why? Why would anyone else want to protect Nick? The hexenbiester usually worked for high-ranking creatures. If they were around, things got political. So if someone was interested in Nick’s continued survival, it was for a political reason.

Monroe sighed and pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He walked back to the ICU where nothing had changed. Except for the nurse giving him a second look.

Time to make himself scarce.

* * *

Monroe had finally snuck into the hospital room after Nick was moved out of the ICU, avoiding night nurses and doctors and sleepless relatives and friends alike. The hexenbiest hadn’t been back, but since he couldn’t be there all the time, she might have been around when he hadn’t been. It gave him a sick feeling, coupled with the vague hope that she had told the truth.

Coming here, checking in on Nick, had been like a silent imperative running through him. He had to do it. There was no way around.

Now he studied the pale features, smelled the unmistakable odor of dried blood, antiseptic and cleaning fluids, and he wanted to run away again.

He didn’t.

He had made too many mistakes already and he wouldn’t make any more.

Nick was sleeping. IV lines were running into the body of the Grimm. A heart monitor had been attached, just in case. Blood loss was fought by transfusions. All the bruises and scrapes were minor compared to the wound in his side. A breathing tube under his nose helped him get the oxygen he needed. His pale skin and the bruises all over his face from where he had been repeatedly struck only added to the guilt Monroe felt.

Mountains and mountains of guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Not that it had been his fault. This hadn’t been creature related. A young punk had wanted to rob a store and had panicked when he had found there was someone else in there, too. He had fired at Nick without provocation.

The Grimm had survived, but now he was vulnerable and alone.

Monroe reached out and curled a gentle hand around one wrist.

No, Nick wouldn’t be alone. He would make it all up to him, pay him back, undo what he had done. The guilt sat too heavily, the disappointment in Nick’s eyes burned into his mind.

He owed the Grimm.

More than three. More than he might ever be able to repay.

There was a twitch in the hand he held. Eyes blinked, revealing gray depths that were clouded and far from coherent, and he leaned forward.

"Nick?"

Another blink. There was an unspoken question in those eyes and Monroe shifted forward, just a fraction, holding the exhausted, drugged gaze.

"You're safe," he only said.

It was enough, just three little words. Nick's lips twitched a little, then his eyes slid shut, his consciousness fading into sleep.

Monroe sank into the chair.

Can't lose you, he thought.

That line kept repeating itself endlessly. He would not lose this man. Not to such a stupid accident.

*

He had stayed longer than he had wanted to. Slipping out of the room unseen had been close to impossible and when he had finally made it, the blutbad felt like a stalker. A shadow hovering around Nick, not really allowed close, but not forbidden either.

It didn’t stop him from coming back the next night.

Or the next.

Nick always slept and Monroe always stayed as long as he dared, then disappeared again.

Until the fourth night when he nodded off and was surprised by another late night visitor. His senses were a little sluggish from missing so much sleep in the last few days that he didn’t react right away.

A hare. Monroe blinked, surprised. Part of him noted that he was still holding Nick’s hand and that was something he had been doing every night. It was a gentle hold, the only contact he allowed himself to have.

And only when Nick slept.

“What do you want from him?” the woman asked, her voice filled with fear but also resolve to protect… a Grimm? “He hasn’t done anything to you! Leave him alone!”

Monroe raised one hand in a calming gesture. “I’m not here to hurt him. He’s… my friend.”

Really?! his inner voice laughed.

The hare woman stared at him. “You’re a blutbad!”

A predator. Someone a hare or a reinigen or a pig would want to evade. Roddy had been hard to convince that Monroe wasn’t about to maim him. Orson at least had let him live, but probably only because he wasn’t part of the family feud. The woman… he had no idea what she would do. If she ran, he wouldn’t chase her. He would leave as quickly and quietly as he could.

“Reformed,” he told her. “I don’t do that anymore. Nick and I… well, he and I have worked together before…”

Before everything went so catastrophically downhill. Before he had gotten a good man killed because he hadn’t been able to keep it in his pants!

“Why should I believe you? You would rather see him dead!”

“No!” he exclaimed. “I would never touch him. Listen, lady. I’m really not bad any more. Nick and I go back. He knows me. I’ve helped him before. I only came because…” Monroe stopped, fighting for words.

Why had he come? Because he felt so guilty? Because Nick had been shot? Because…?

“He’s my friend,” he added lamely. “I saw the news…”

She hadn’t moved and her large, hazel eyes were filled with the instinctual terror of a hare when facing a predator, but she wasn’t about to let a blutbad scare her away from Nick. Wow. Whoever she was, the little Grimm had earned her loyalty and trust.

How about that?

Then again, look at himself, Monroe thought. Persistent little… do-gooder.

Nick wasn’t who the nightmarish tales made him. He was a good guy. A Grimm and a good guy. He helped, he tried to mediate, he tried to solve problems without shooting creatures.

And Monroe had fallen for that. He had fallen for those big, gray eyes and the handsome face and the innocence and the hardass expression he sometimes saw in those eyes. Nick wasn’t soft or weak; he was a cop and a Grimm and he wanted to help. He hated to shoot first, he didn’t want to hurt the creatures he had to confront, he tried to be reasonable!... and sometimes it worked. Another Grimm might have just picked them off as they came; so far Nick had evaded killing most of the time. He had shot a reaper before he had even been aware of what he was, what the reaper meant. He had shot the blutbad who had killed those women and abducted another girl.

That was about it.

“I’d never hurt him,” he now said softly. “I’m not that kinda blutbad, okay?”

“…he’s really not…” a whisper-weak voice agreed with him.

Sensitive blutbad ears picked up the words and Monroe’s head whipped around, looking into the barely awake eyes of Nick Burckhardt, his personal pain in the ass.

“Clari, it’s okay,” he added.

He sounded weak and rough and like it took an effort just to string those words together.

“He’s a blutbad,” the woman, Clari, said, shaking her head.

“…he’s m’friend.”

Nick’s eyes were sliding shut and Monroe wrapped his hand around the wrist again. He felt a gentle pulse, strong and reassuring. Nick managed to crack his eyes open and he twitched a smile.

The blutbad felt himself smile back, so very relieved and giddy, he nearly did something really stupid. He just about reined himself in not to kiss the injured man.

The hare inched closer, clearly puzzled by the whole development. Monroe tried to look non-threatening, but he knew he was doing a bad job. Just like Roddy, who only hadn’t bolted because he had known blutbaden were much faster than reinigen, Clari was twitchy and super-careful.

“I’ll better go,” Monroe murmured. “Get better. And I’m sorry. Really.”

Nick smiled again, then his eyes slid shut again; staying shut this time.

“You’re his friend,” the woman said, voice filled with confusion.

Monroe nodded. “I am.”

“And he trusts you. A Grimm trusts you.”

She sounded even more mystified.

“He does. He has my loyalty.”

The truth and nothing but the truth.

She gazed at him as if she could see into his head, read his thoughts. Monroe just gave her a half-smile, then nodded at the door.

“I’ll go now.”

And he did. Quietly leaving, though he stuck around until the hare left the room a minute after him, taking the elevator to the ground floor. Monroe took the stairs, crossed the entrance hallways, hands stuffed into his pockets, and braved the cold outside. It was dark, the clouds obscuring the sky and the moon, and he headed for his car.

Nick was going to be okay.

He simply had to be okay.


	5. Chapter 5

Eight days after the shooting Nick was released from the hospital.

There had been an emergency throughout the first night when he had started bleeding internally again, when he had been rushed off into surgery once more. Then he had fought his way back to consciousness.

After he had been transferred out of his two-day stay in the Intensive Care Unit, Nick had spent another two days trying to get his muddled brains together, and had finally been able to tell apart the faces of his visitors.

And he had had visitors every day, starting with his partner Hank, then the other guys from the precinct, and even their captain had dropped by once.

And that had been a weird moment. Nick hadn’t been really awake and when he had tried to focus on Renard, weird images had kept overlapping. Not like seeing a creature at all. A few more blinks and the other man had come into focus; Nick had blamed the painkillers.

Who hadn’t shown up was Juliette.

He should have expected it. The cracks in their relationship had only gotten bigger and bigger. The Grimm was getting between them without her even knowing it. She had been out of town, actually out of state. She had looked into a large veterinary clinic, into employment options, and then had stayed with her parents.

Nick had known about the offer for a while, had known she was putting off the decision because of him, them, and now…

That should have been his first clue. Well, no, not really the first. The first should have been their difficulties after Aunt Marie’s death.

They had talked over the phone. For a long, long time. She had told him about the job offer, the chance to be part of the clinic. She had told him about moving, about maybe staying with her parents until she had a new place. Nick had known then and there that it was over. Not with a bang or a whimper, more like a slow death that had finally ended it all.

Hank had been shocked when he had told him that they had separated; over the phone. Juliette was gone from his life and it had been over so fast… As if Aunt Marie had known it; orchestrated it. She had told him that this couldn’t continue, but back then Nick hadn’t known what was going on. Juliette had accused him of not fighting for their relationship, then apologized and cried some more.

But she was right. Nick hadn’t fought.

Being a cop was one thing; being a Grimm… it was so much more and so much more secretive. She didn’t know, she couldn’t understand, and Nick couldn’t tell her.

So they had separated; on equal terms. She had accepted Nick wouldn’t fight to keep her, and Nick had accepted that Juliette couldn’t be part of this life. In the nine days away she had cleared out her things from the house – which was in his name – and had moved; out of town, out of the state, away from the west coast.

He tried not to think about it.

Clari had been at the hospital a few times and she had listened when he had talked. She had nodded, but she hadn’t really commented. Just once.

“If you had the chance now, would you tell her?”

“No.”

And that was that. Nick knew he would never want his girlfriend to live the danger a Grimm found himself in.

Maybe Grimms were meant to be alone.

Aunt Marie had never married. She had been alone all her life. His parents had apparently both been Grimms and that had been as rare as it had been a powerful connection.

He had been the result, orphaned at a very early age.

Someone who also hadn’t been back had been Monroe. Nick remembered that one moment with great clarity, finding the blutbad in his room at night, holding his hand, talking urgently to Clari, trying to explain that he was a friend. Nick had never felt more centered than in that moment, like all his strength was focused in that second when he had vouched for the other man, had told Clari they were friends.

And he remembered the touch.

Damnit!

Nick finished dressing and leaned against the edge of the bed with a heavy sigh. He rubbed a temple, the one without a bandage taped over the injured skin where a bullet had torn a deep groove. He felt the start of a headache building behind his eyes. Just the simple task of dressing had left him tired and more than a little grumpy, and now his main ambition was to get out of here. Mustering his energy in a concentrated effort he launched himself from the edge of the bed and moved to the door.

 

Feeling like he had just driven a marathon, not been chauffeured home by Hank, Nick looked around the silent, empty house. Damn the wound. Even while it was healing, it leeched off his strength. Add to it the still sometimes blurry vision and his dependency on others and he felt like getting a headache just about now. The doctor had told him that the concussion would have some lingering effects.

His face still looked like someone else's punching ball. The cuts had been stitched, but the flesh around it had been discolored and swollen for a while. It was now gradually turning a shade more normal. The stitches had been removed yesterday and he had been told to come back for regular checks. Thankfully there was no hemorrhaging in the eyes, something that easily happened when the area around the eyes was struck, and there was no nerve damage. The blows could have done a lot more damage than the superficial one he now had as proof to bear.

A hollow feeling settled inside him as he went into the silent kitchen, noticing so many missing things. Half of his life was gone because the other half had now been taken over by the Grimm world. He was whole again in a way, a cop and a Grimm, but Juliette… their years together… it was all gone. Nick couldn’t undo being a Grimm; creatures recognized him. Juliette was in danger because of it.

It had been for the best.

He wouldn’t fight. He was too tired and too scared. Because he still loved her in a way, wanted to protect her, though the ‘in love’ was no longer there.

Yes, it had been for the best.

* * *

He didn’t ask who it was. Monroe just yanked the door open and stared at the man on his porch like he was an apparition.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he exclaimed.

It was a cold, cold day and the fog hung between the trees in the park across the road. By tonight it would be hard enough to see a hand in front of your eyes and the temperatures had dropped down enough to promise snow soon.

“Hey, Monroe,” Nick replied softly. “Can I come in?”

“Can you…?” Monroe threw up his hands and just about refrained from grabbing the man and pulling him inside. “Get in!” he ordered.

Nick walked inside and the blutbad took note of every little move, of how he protectively held his stomach with one arm, how pale he was, how there were lines of pain and stress around his mouth and eyes, how he smelled of the hospital and the injury…

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

From the look on Nick’s face he knew that a) it had been the wrong thing to ask, b) it had come across completely wrong, and c) it had been wrong, wrong, wrong!

The Grimm’s pale features closed off and he started to head back to the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Monroe stepped in front of him and Nick stared at the blutbad with anger flaring in those damned, gray eyes. “Home,” he ground out.

“You just came in!”

“And I’m clearly pushing my welcome.”

“Geez, dude! Don’t be so melodramatic. You’re about to fall over. Sit before I have to scrape you off the carpet!”

And Monroe gently but firmly maneuvered him to the couch. The wince when Nick sat down was hard to miss. And damn was he thin! Nick was slender already, but those days in the hospital had left him with weight loss that the blutbad could feel.

“Why are you here?” Monroe asked, gentler this time.

“Not sure.”

Oh, yes he was. Nick’s eyes were darting around the room and Monroe knew he was trying to come up with a good reason as to why an injured Grimm was seeking refuge in a reformed blutbad’s home.

Not that the reformed blutbad minded. Not at all. Ever since the shock that Nick had been nearly killed over some petty store robbery, Monroe had been more volatile than ever. He had had a heck of time calming the inner beast and had taken to Pilates, the cello and his clocks like a fiend. When all of that hadn’t worked, he had picked up knitting. Not something to brag over a beer about, but it truly calmed him. Next thing he knew he’d start making socks for gifts. Geez!

“Coffee?” Monroe now offered, feeling suddenly ill-equipped to handle the other man.

“Sounds good.”

He walked into the kitchen and nearly yelled at Nick again when the Grimm had to follow. Just getting up had been painful for him. Couldn’t he just…?

Monroe looked into the determined gray eyes and knew that no, he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Nick said softly, leaning against the kitchen counter. Pale as a ghost, looking ready to just keel over.

“Huh?” Oh, very good, Monroe, he snarled at himself.

“About Angelina. I wanted to help and made it worse. As a cop I had to follow the leads and…” He shrugged, grimacing.

Monroe was close to just throwing him over his shoulder and carrying him to bed. And fuck, where was his brain going? He wanted to beat his mind to death with a spoon!

“Not your fault,” he simply said.

And why was Nick bringing this up now? After almost two months?!

“You love her…”

“Loved. Past tense. I thought I had cleared that up.”

It got him a half-smile. “Okay, past tense. And you and I both know that I’m pretty crappy at the Grimm stuff without your help…”

“Still waiting for that gift basket. And you’re good. Better than those we hear about.”

There was a light in his eyes that briefly gave a little more life to the other man. Monroe almost smiled at that.

“Hey, you don’t just kill creatures. That’s good. Really good. You could have killed Angelina several times and you didn’t.” He looked at his favorite mug, then back at the Grimm. “I think you got this down pat. With a little more knowledge you could be a real good guy in that second job as well. Not killing is always good.”

“But you expect it.”

“Expected. Past tense. Get your tenses straight, dude.”

Another half-smile. “Bad reps are hard to beat.”

“Tell me about it.”

They looked at each other, silence between them, and Monroe wanted… he really wanted… and he still stood rooted to the spot. When Nick closed his eyes and rubbed them tiredly, the spell was broken. Forgetting about the coffee that hadn’t even been started, Monroe slid next to the smaller man.

“Let’s get you off your feet.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not your partner, Nick. I can see and smell and hear you’re not fine!” Monroe growled, then grabbed the younger man before Nick could walk into the doorframe.

He maneuvered the Grimm back to the couch and tried not to see how he winced again.

But he did see it.

It hurt him in turn.

“Monroe, I’m fine,” Nick told him again. “It’ll take a while, but I’m fine.”

And he was vulnerable. Anyone who wanted to have a go at taking out a Grimm could do so now. Nick was unable to defend himself properly.

So it was up to the reformed blutbad to pick up the slack.

“You’re not,” he said. “Fine or anything else.”

Nick sighed, sounding tired.

“Which is why you’re welcome to stay in the guest room,” he went on.

His brain caught up with his mouth and Monroe felt something inside him freeze for a moment. Nick raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have a guest room, Monroe.”

He shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t. He had a sofa that pulled out into a bed and a spare room that was cluttered to the ceiling and in dire need of a good reorganization.

“How are you going to get home?” he challenged.

“I’ll call a cab.”

“And faint on your own doorstep.”

“I won’t faint,” Nick protested.

Monroe stared at the seated man, very much aware that Nick was running on empty right now, smelling the exhaustion, the hospital lingering on him like he was still there, and he really needed rest. Monroe needed rest. He would only get that if he knew Nick was safe.

“Stay, Nick,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Maybe it was the ‘please’ that did it, but the Grimm stayed.

Not on the couch.

That was where he spent the night, listening to the heartbeat and soft breathing of another living being in his home.


	6. Chapter 6

Nick had spent a lot of time in Monroe’s house in the past months, but he had never made it to the second floor, let alone the bedroom.

And didn’t that sound like the beginning of a cheesy romance novel?

He smiled tiredly at the thought as he closed the door to the bedroom after him. He was exhausted, his body was trembling from too much in such a short time, and he was still cold. Monroe had put on new sheets, fussing over the clutter everywhere, pushing and shoving things into corners or the closet. He had shown Nick the en-suite, which was tiny but functional, as well as the much bigger master bathroom, which Nick had no intention of using.

He was a guest here and he hadn’t really planned to spend the night. He had no clothes to sleep in, no toothbrush, nothing. Monroe had solved that problem. Spare brush, spare clothes, the freshly made bed.

Nick sat down, looking around the room. It was comfortable, warm colors and rugs over a refinished wooden floor. The bed looked sturdy, was big enough to sleep two, and the long-sleeve shirt and pajama pants were warm and well-worn.

Still Nick felt cold.

He wrapped himself up in another layer of clothes and buried in the covers, hoping for warmth.

*

After an hour, the dreams began.

Monroe slid silently into the bedroom and over to the bed, looking at the dreaming man. Bad dreams. Very bad. Nick's hands twitched, as if trying to rise, to defend. A barely audible whimper escaped the injured man, sending the blutbad into action more quickly than any cry could have. He sank slowly to the mattress and a hand found its way into the tousled hair. Long strands slid through his fingers with the caress and almost instantly Nick leaned into it, making a new noise, one not associated with bad dreams.

"I'm here, Nick."

It was enough. Those little words. The body relaxed and the Grimm's breathing became slow, even, more like sleep than nightmares.

He didn’t wake. He trusted Monroe so deeply that he didn’t wake in a blutbad’s home as he was touched. And Monroe honored that trust. It touched him in a way he hadn’t felt before.

“I’m here,” he murmured.

He continued his caresses, smoothing his hand over the lines of the brow, avoiding the scabbed over wound, then finally pulled away. He rose stiffly, abruptly, leaving the room with angry steps.

What am I doing?

He felt like a rat on a sinking ship, but with no way of leaving.

He was trying to convince himself he had just tried to comfort an injured friend, but all the while the bastard inside him gleefully informed him that he had thought about something else, too.

He was such an idiot!

Monroe ran a tired hand over his scruffy features, feeling the scrape of his beard.

Friend, he repeated. Nothing else.

He released a breath he hadn't even noticed holding.

This wasn't worth the risk. Never. There was also the fact that he shied away from such close, emotional contact.

Nick is worth it, a part of him whispered. Really worth it. Take a leap, risk it!

Really? Was it worth it?

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, Monroe walked through the silent house, then suddenly stopped. A prickly feeling went down his spine and he prowled over to the window, pushing the curtain aside.

Outside was nothing but darkness with the streets lamps casting pools of light. A storm was rolling in fast, just like the weather news had announced, and he could smell the rain. Gusts of wind swept across the road.

Something was there.

Monroe knew it and he felt a growl in his chest. If someone or something tried to take out the injured Grimm, they would have to go through him.

He opened the door and walked out onto the porch, eyes a deep red, fangs already extending, and he felt sharp claws at his finger tips. He rumbled a warning to whoever was here.

Something moved, a blur so fast, even a blutbad’s eyes were challenged tracking the thing. And then he saw it, tall and clearly a creature, one Monroe had never seen before. He felt himself bristle, the sense of danger shrilling loudly. Eyes the color of blackish orange regarded the blutbad and he bared his teeth, growling a warning.

The other looked almost amused. The eyes were disconcerting. Like there was no pupil, more like the black increased or decreased. Like one of those lava lamps from the seventies, liquid and unnatural.

“What do you want?” Monroe snarled, flexing his fingers, trying not to project the fear he actually felt.

He hadn’t been involved in a brawl in thirteen years, ever since he had turned his back on his kind’s instincts. Fighting was instinct, too. If push came to shoved he knew he would give everything to keep Nick safe.

“Nothing. I knew he had a partner,” the creature said, the voice almost pleasant. “It took me a while to discover it was a blutbad, of all creatures.”

There was something almost like a chuckle. Monroe didn’t know whether to be offended or not.

“He trusts you.”

His hackles rose as the creature came closer.

It wasn’t pretty. At least to a blutbad. And he was pretty open-minded. Leathery skin, shifting colors between dark copper, bronze and burnt gold, that looked like armor plates, a snout filled with fangs, and those intense eyes. It was in full creature form and nothing hinted at the everyday face. And were those wings on its back! Crap!

“Who are you?” Monroe asked again, the wolf in him drawn between cowing and attacking.

Mostly it wanted to defend, even against something Monroe recognized a very much his superior in strength and speed. This was a predator and a blutbad would be easy prey. All his instincts screamed to run, but Nick’s presence had him stay and face a primordial nightmare.

“I am no danger to the Grimm.”

“And you want me to believe that?” he challenged.

A part of him wanted to hit him over the head repeatedly for it. Another part was spoiling for a fight.

The creature smiled, showing rows of teeth as impressive as blutbad fangs. Maybe even more. Those canines were massive!

And suddenly a very primal part of Monroe squealed as it realized what the creature was. Like some kind of creature memory surfacing, something deep inside every creature that recognized a Grimm, only now it recognized something else. It took all of him not to bolt. It was probably only the fact that Nick would be completely defenseless that had him stand his ground in front of… this.

“You’re…” He swallowed, mouth dry. “A regnant, right? A premier?”

The low, dark chuckle confirmed it.

“W-why are you here?”

Monroe became aware that he was moving slowly back toward the house without consciously thinking about, his wolf side quickly going through all the possibilities of fighting this creature, and each and every time it ended with him in little pieces.

And Nick becoming the next victim.

The blutbad in him hissed and snapped and snarled at that.

“Keep him safe.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Keep the Grimm safe.”

“What’s it to you?”

And now he really wanted to whack himself. You didn’t challenge a regnant! His grandmamma had told him so.

Then again, she had also told him never to cross the path of a Grimm and just look who was in his home more often than not, had dragged him out into dangerous situations, had become a friend…

“Keep him safe.”

And then the regnant was gone.

Monroe stood there for a full second, then stumbled into the house and closed the door, falling against it with a whimper. He trembled badly, the wild animal in him curled up in a frightened heap, making anxious little noises.

A regnant.

Holy crap!

And suddenly the presence of the hexenbiest made sense. She would serve a regnant, no doubt about it.

Holy fucking crap!

Outside, the first raindrops fell. Within minutes, it was pouring and thunder rolled overhead.

Even though he knew it made no sense for protection, he pulled the blinds and curtains shut, then set up camp in Nick’s bedroom. He listened to the Grimm sleep, his regular breaths, the beat of his heart, and he took a lot more comfort from it than he probably should. It lulled him into a sense of peace and he tried not to think about the regnant.

Easier said than done.

* * *

The next morning was a little awkward. Monroe had slept little. Well, scratch that: not at all! A short doze here or there, but mostly he had been looking at the sleeping Grimm just out of arm’s reach, committing so many small things to memory.

The way he moved throughout the night.

His soft sounds as he dreamed.

The twitch of a hand or foot, eyes moving in REM sleep.

Monroe’s mind had been going around and around. A regnant! They were as much legend as Grimms. Hell, they were more like fairy tales to the creature world! The wolf in him had recognized it, but it had taken a while to sink in what he was facing, and now his grandmother’s stories came back. About the royalty, about the guardians, the regnants. The ones who had come first. They were rare but powerful, never got involved in creature conflicts or feuds, but they were territorial and didn’t suffer infringements lightly. In grandmama’s stories the regnants were insanely powerful, but mostly benign, and they only came out to smite the enemy if they were directly involved in something. Then things would get extremely ugly.

Now a regnant had popped up in his front yard.

That meant the regnant had chosen Portland as his territory, saw the city as his, and that would lead to some interesting speculations…

And if he translated the words correctly in his head, the regnant wanted him to guard Nick, keep him from harm, do whatever was necessary… but why?

Monroe threw himself into Pilates, but it didn’t give him any answers. He followed that as usual by a shower, then breakfast. A few flakes were drifting down from the lead gray sky and the forecasts promised more to come. This was the beginning of winter and Monroe wasn’t looking forward to it right now.

A regnant. It kept whirling around his head. Creature royalty. No one knew them, no one had any idea where they came from, how many there were, but they were real.

Like Grimms.

Nick moved sleepily into the kitchen, looking like he wasn’t really aware of anything, and gratefully accepted a mug of coffee.

“You can take a shower,” Monroe remarked, getting a whiff of antiseptic.

“I can do that at home.”

“Dude, don’t be more difficult than you have to be, okay?”

The small smile that answered him had Monroe’s stomach flutter and he busied himself with breakfast. Walls were breaking down fast, already crumbling in parts due to Nick’s vulnerable state and Monroe’s fierce protectiveness. Last night had been almost his undoing. He had been ready to face the most powerful of all creatures to protect the Grimm, and just looking at the man, still so weak and dependent, had the wolf come forth full force once more.

It was getting worse with every word, smile, gesture.

 

Nick, clean and smelling of Monroe’s shower gel and shampoo, was even harder to ignore. He had shaved, his hair hung in damp strands and tousled into his forehead, and he looked so incredibly young. And he was wearing Monroe’s clothes, too! Okay, so he had handed him the shirt and the sweat pants, which were too big for the slender man, and okay, he had argued with Nick that putting on his of hospital smelling clothes wouldn’t help this particular blutbad. But seeing him in them…?

It was testing everything. All his control, all his willpower, all of his cognitive functions. The inner beast approved of it all, wanted Nick to wear this, wanted him to smell of Monroe, but Monroe himself was terrified of what this would make him do.

This was not good. Not good at all!


	7. Chapter 7

Of course Nick insisted to go home after breakfast. Monroe growled and grumbled the whole time, forced the man to wear a knit sweater over the other clothes, also one of his, and it didn’t help. That Nick was huddled into the car’s passenger seat, clearly not well and in no shape to do much, was equally not helpful. But Monroe drove him home and against his better judgment he went inside the two-storey clapboard that looked a lot better than his little hut. Then again, looks weren’t everything. Looks were pretty much deceiving.

And no, he hadn’t been checking the area the whole time, looking for a sign of threat; or the regnant.

Monroe had a lot of repairs planned for his home, small stuff that could be done inside in winter times, and he had already drawn up plans for the bigger outside things. While he would never paint his house in bright colors, he had to take care of the wood and that was something to do in spring. The plan to turn the storage room into a real spare room was on his mind. Add a bed, he told himself. For guests. For Nick.

And he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

What was he thinking?!

But he really needed to sort through the stuff in there, paint the walls, maybe refinish the floor in some areas, declutter the closet… Lots and lots of things to keep him busy.

It was good to be busy.

He had never been at Nick’s place, but it was immediately clear that a lot had gone missing. The house felt empty, cold, without a personality. Monroe followed the Grimm into the living room that looked clean and hardly lived in. The heating was on, but Nick was freezing because his body wasn’t completely healed yet. He was already opening up the valves to let in more heat.

Juliette was gone. He had gotten that much from overhearing a brief conversation between Nick and his partner at the hospital, Nick’s sudden appearance last night, and now this. It had been a separation in the making, ever since Aunt Marie’s death. The Grimm part of Nick’s life had taken over and he was hiding so much from his friends, Juliette had been the first to suffer the consequences.

Monroe walked into the kitchen and checked the contents of the fridge. Aside from a few beers and what looked like two glasses of jam, as well as a stick of butter, there was nothing. He didn’t count the packs of ketchup and mustard. The cabinets yielded some useful boxes of instant food, but this hardly went as what an injured Grimm needed. Nick couldn’t live off crackers, cereal and dried fruit.

“I’ll be fine. I can call for take-out.”

Monroe rounded on the other man, glaring at him. “You say that word one more time and you’ll be banned from my place for the rest of your life!” he snapped.

Nick blinked. “What word?”

“Fine! You’re not fine, Nick! You got shot! Twice! A bullet nearly took your stupid head off! You’re just out of the hospital! You’re vulnerable and whatever might have a grudge against a Grimm could come looking for you! You’d be easy prey!”

Nick’s eyes had gone wide at the outburst and he stared at him in shock. Then something slammed down on his features, making them hard and unyielding.

“I’m not defenseless,” he said coldly. “I’m a cop. And I can take care of myself, Monroe. I don’t need a babysitter.”

The wolf growled. He really growled. Before he knew it he was there, right in front of Nick, who was pushed against the wall, features briefly contorting in pain.

“You are vulnerable, Grimm!” he spat.

The pale skin was flushed, but the eyes… cold and like granite, something dark and dangerous lurking in their depths. It was what he had seen whenever Nick pointed a weapon at someone, at a creature. He wouldn’t shoot in cold blood, calculating his other options, and he would only kill as a last resort. Now the Grimm was looking at him, calculating…

“Let go of me,” he said.

Monroe did so, pushing away. Guilt raced through him as he saw the hand briefly twitch toward the abdominal injury, then Nick turned and walked away. He went up the stairs and sensitive blutbad ears heard the heavy steps, the pained breathing, and Monroe knew he had caused that pain.

*

He didn’t leave the house. He couldn’t. Even if Nick would have thrown him out he would have lingered. The weather had turned truly nasty and it looked like the rain wouldn’t be letting up any time soon.

Not that he minded.

Blutbaden were weather-proof.

But it was nice to sit inside, watch the dreary world outside, listen to the pitter-patter of rain against the windows.

He waited, in the big living room, seeing all that was missing, feeling like his own, small, cramped, overstuffed living room was so much warmer and cozier than this. Monroe started browsing through some old magazines, then finally switched on the TV.

He had failed protecting Hap. In his own home! And he had promised that nothing would happen to him.

Monroe wouldn’t make that mistake again. Nick would be safe.

His eyes watered, which had nothing to do with the sappy stuff on TV. Hap had been the closest thing to a good friend in blutbad terms. Happy. Easy. Going almost straight and failing only in the little things.

Monroe had failed in what had really mattered.

But not this time.

*

Nick came down the stairs late in the afternoon. Monroe knew he had slept and he did look better, though he was still… wearing his clothes? Did the man know what he was doing to him?! He had his own clothes in his own home in his own closet and he was wearing Monroe’s! Too big for his frame, looking bigger because the Grimm was thin and worn-looking, despite the rest he had gotten.

He buried the wolf inside him, leashing him tightly in its cage, watching Nick just stand there, looking at him. His skin color had improved a little, but by the way he wrapped an arm around his injured abdomen, Monroe knew he was still not up to much.

“I’m sorry,” the younger man said softly. “You were right.”

“As usual,” Monroe muttered, trying to get past the awkwardness, and his own uproar at the sight of the slender form wearing his clothes.

Geez! Down, boy!

“I appreciate what you are doing,” the Grimm went on. “But you’re not my bodyguard.”

“Usually I’m your babysitter, but bodyguard sounds cooler.”

It got him a small smile. “You have your own life, Monroe. I’ll be f… okay.”

“Nice save, Butch, but you’re not fooling anyone. You’d be easy prey and my conscience and I can’t deal with that. Took me long enough to get you housebroken.”

Nick regarded him solemnly for a moment. “You don’t owe me anything, Monroe,” he finally said.

He looked into the earnest face, still too pale and thin and reflecting the pain of before.

“I owe you plenty. I messed up with Hap.” And the old guilt surged forward, making him blink a few times. The knot in his stomach wasn’t helping. “You asked if she talked me into this.”

He couldn’t look into those knowing eyes.

“You said she didn’t talk you into anything,” Nick replied quietly.

No blame. No anger. It was doing more to Monroe than Nick yelling at him could have done. The quiet acceptance… Like back at the station. He had been so guilt-ridden, hunching over, wanting to sink into the floor. They had taken Angelina away to be questioned by Nick’s partner, and he had been at Nick’s desk, answering questions.

Nick had been accepting; very un-Grimm-like. He had talked so normally to him, had listened to Monroe’s urgent explanations that no blutbad would kill their own kind, and he had warned him.

The warning had come too late.

Everything had been too late.

And when Orson had stood in his home, pointing that shotgun at him, Monroe had fatalistically accepted it. It would have been justice to die at the pig’s hands because he had let Hap down.

“In a way, but not alone. I wanted it, too.” Monroe wanted to sink into the ground in shame. “It was too hard to resist. I followed her… because I was blind and wasn’t thinking straight. Hell, I wasn’t thinking at all!”

Nick lowered himself in the armchair, slowly, carefully. “The killer didn’t know that at the time.”

“Hap died because of me! Because of me, Nick! I was his friend! I left him! He shouldn’t be dead! Not him! He was a good guy! If I thought… If I had believed he was really in danger at my place…”

“I believe you. It easily could have been three bodies… Orson would have shot you all if he had found three blutbaden at your home.”

“Yeah, well, his beef wasn’t with me. He told me so.” Monroe shrugged.

Nick’s head shot up, gray eyes blazing. His features were suddenly hard and scary. The wolf in Monroe cringed under the gaze.

“You talked to him?!” the Grimm demanded sharply.

Oh. Right. Nick didn’t know that.

“Monroe…”

Those eyes; damnit! Hard and demanding and very much controlling the situation all of a sudden. So he told him and the expression in those eyes became deadly. If Orson wasn’t already in custody…

The blutbad shivered.

“He wasn’t after me, Nick. It was a warning. And I tried to help…”

Nick leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “I either scare people into thinking I want to kill them or I endanger people close to me!” he snarled.

Monroe was on his feet, leaning over the seated man, hands left and right on the armrests. The wolf snarled to be let out, but he kept it leashed.

“No!” he hissed instead. “You don’t. This was a family feud and I was in the middle. I would have been in the middle whether I know you or not! And you’re a Grimm, Nick! All we know is what our parents told us! Of course we fear the nightterrors!”

“I’m not…”

“No one but me and a few others know that! All they see is the Grimm.”

“Like Angelina.”

“Her family had some nasty Grimm encounters.”

“As did yours.”

Monroe rumbled. “I still didn’t kill you on sight.”

They looked at each other and he was mesmerized by the handsome face, the eyes. Always with the eyes. He wanted this, wanted it so badly it scared him. Because a blutbad with a human was bad already; with a Grimm? It was the unthinkable.

But here they were, working together, drinking together, spending a really good time together… Monroe had missed Nick in the past weeks and it had almost hurt to imagine that the Grimm would never be back.

But he was back.

Injured and weak and easy prey… His prey. Only his. No one else would touch this man. No creature would get to Nick as long as Monroe was guarding him.

“You’re wearing my clothes.”

And there went his mouth again, not consulting his brain.

Nick looked at him, wide-eyed, slightly baffled by the change of topic, then his face settled into a resolute expression.

“I’ll go and change then. You can have them back.”

But Monroe wasn’t moving; neither was Nick. He was leaning over the smaller man, a Grimm who was so vulnerable at the moment, a reinigen could take him. A Grimm he liked more than was healthy A Grimm he wanted to…

His brain screeched to a halt.

“You either come back to my place or I’m staying here,” the blutbad said in a low, slightly dangerous voice.

“You don’t have a guest room.”

“So your place it is.”

Would his mouth shut up now? Please? His brain was yelling at him that this was the worst idea ever, but he wasn’t listening.

“This isn’t your territory.”

“Then I’ll make it mine,” he growled.

Like the Grimm was his. He had made a stand when it had come to Angelina or Nick. He had faced her down, had been ready to do whatever was necessary, even hurt his ex-girlfriend. Monroe vividly remembered Nick standing just to his left, a little behind him, his scent strong and powerful. Pure Grimm. A tiny part of his brain had muttered about injuries, but his more primal side had hissed and snarled to be let out, let at the female who had wanted to kill the Grimm.

They were so close, so very, very close.

He could smell Nick; and he smelled so very, very good.

Finally his brain took control and he straightened so abruptly, he thought he heard his spine crack. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, his nostrils filled with the scent of Nick.

Bad, bad idea.

Nick in his clothes.

Worse idea!

Nick… Nick…

The wolf whimpered.

“I need to bring a few things over,” Monroe said numbly, mouth dry. “Don’t open the door for anyone. Anyone!”

Nick didn’t answer, but he felt those eyes on his back all the way to the door. Outside Monroe took a deep breath.

Things had started to spin out of control. Definitely. And he had no idea how to stop it.

 

Nick still sat in the armchair, his heart hammering in his chest, his breathing too fast. He had never been so glad for the pain meds and their numbing effect on certain parts of his anatomy, too.

“Oh god,” he groaned and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back.

This was bad. Really bad.

The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife and it didn’t help that having Monroe loom over him like that, barely restrained, about to show the first signs of being a blutbad, had had a very intense effect on the Grimm.

“This is really bad,” he whispered.

It had started with the bad idea to come over to Monroe’s place last night, the much worse idea to stay there for the night, and the abysmally bad decision to go home and have Monroe accompany him.

Resting a hand on his injured side, an unconscious gesture as if he needed to protect the weakness, he got up and walked into the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water.

Monroe was going to stay in the house; because he didn’t think Nick could protect himself. Truth be told, he felt as strong as a wet paper towel right now and if someone out there got it in their heads to come over and take out the friendly neighborhood Grimm, there was little Nick could do.

He needed protection.

He needed Monroe.

And it was going to be hell to be so close to the blutbad 24/7. Hell.


	8. Chapter 8

Monroe was in his house, piling random things into a duffel, then throwing more into a large box. His mind was spinning and this time not from thought of the regnant. It was about his own inability to keep himself in check.

He finally sank onto the couch and buried his head in his hands.

“I’m totally screwed,” he whispered.

Because he liked Nick more than was healthy for a blutbad.

* * *

The next few days were a nightmare. A real nightmare. Monroe quickly got used to living in a different house. Slipping out when Nick was asleep to mark his new territory helped. Blutbaden moved, too. They could adapt. Just the fact that this wasn’t really a move, that it was a temporary extension of what Monroe saw as his, made it a little unusual. Nick had given him the guest room, which was as big as his own bedroom, and things from Monroe started piling up on the available surfaces and inside the closet.

He still followed his routine, though with a little different kind of Pilates each morning, then made breakfast. Nick slept a lot on the first real day at home, had some food sometime throughout the day, then slept again. When he managed to watch some TV, he fell asleep again.

It was almost cute.

Now his brain was going rogue on him! Monroe was having a hard time concentrating with the Grimm around, and it had nothing to do with Nick being a cop or a Grimm or anything like that. It was the small fact that he was Nick. And that Monroe now saw him 24/7 instead of the occasional evening for a beer and a chat, or a brief exchange of information on what Nick had seen or heard.

It was way more intense. Condensed. It was purely Nick in so many ways, and it didn’t make Monroe crave him no less than before. Actually, he was growing used to the man in leaps. His smell, his sight, his manners…

Damnit!

He didn’t need this! He really didn’t!

He tried to tell himself it was a rebound fantasy because of Angelina. She had fired him up and her actions had doused him quickly in cold water again.

The argument didn’t stick.

Because this had started before Angelina’s return. The whole mess was just getting worse and worse, and Monroe was getting deeper and deeper into it.

 

When Hank dropped by, Monroe made himself scarce. He could smell the man coming and he usually beat a hasty retreat. He was upstairs, on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the two men talk. It was a soft murmur, but if he wolfed out just a little bit, let his senses take over, concentrated only on his hearing, then he could listen in.

Cop shop talk.

Going over the shooting.

There would be a trial and Nick would be a witness, just like Clari. There was no set date yet, but Monroe felt unwell thinking about it happening while the Grimm was still injured. How would he be able to justify his presence in a room full of lawyers, prosecutors and cops?

Well, he would have to think of something if the trial happened any time soon.

Hank left after a beer, promised Nick to bring over a bunch of DVDs before the other detective could die of boredom, then he was gone.

 

The rest of the time it was just them.

And that was bad enough already.

With each day Nick healed more, the wolf told him in no uncertain terms that those looks he was getting, the way they were sometimes way too close and in each other’s personal space, was no coincidence.

He shut up the inner beast and tried to control his urges. His very non-bloody, only slight violent, very much intense urges.

Monroe could leave; whenever he wanted. Just leave. Walk out the door, go home, forget about it all.

He didn’t.

It would leave his little Grimm sitting on a silver platter. And he would probably have a regnant breathing down his neck. With his luck, it would be fire.

What a mess!

So Monroe stayed, fighting with an urge he had never thought he would need suppressing, least of all around a man, a human, a Grimm! He had had a girlfriend for a while. He had liked sleeping with women, right? But looking at Nick…

He wanted something he couldn’t put into words and it was harder and harder to ignore the little voice in his head, not to mention the more primal nature of his instincts.

Things turned a little dicey the third day when he opened the door and looked into the suddenly terrified eyes of a man in a blue coverall with the name ‘Bud’ stenciled in bright red-on-white on it. There was no mistaking the creature he was looking at. Castor, a biber. Some called them elbebiber.

The man paled dramatically at the sight of a blutbad, stammering apologies, stumbling over his own feet as he backpedaled.

“What do you want?” Monroe asked reasonably, trying to be nice.

Nick wasn’t the only one who got extreme reactions on first sight. Not a word exchanged, not even a threatening gesture made, and he was immediately categorized as the evil creature that ripped your throat out.

At first, after going straight, it had bothered Monroe. Even angered him sometimes. Now it was just a normal occurrence, something he had to deal with, and he dealt with it. Mostly with snark and eye-rolls and the empty hope he might make it through the terror.

At least once it had worked. On Roddy, the young reinigen. Sure, the kid had stank of fear, but he had listened.

“I….I… uh….” The elbebiber whimpered and cringed. “Please don’t kill me!”

“Bud?” Nick pushed past the taller Monroe and gave the castor a quizzical look. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Bud squeaked, staring at Monroe, then back at Nick, who stood so casually next to a deadly predator of the Grimm world. “I wanted… I owe you the repair…” He looked close to fainting.

“It’s okay, really,” Nick calmed him. “Monroe’s a friend.”

“He’s a blutbad!”

The little rodent was close to hysterical.

“He won’t hurt you.”

“You…. You… trust him?!”

“With my life.”

Monroe looked at the Grimm, stunned. Yes, Nick had told him so before, but to hear it again, after everything… in front of another creature, no less! Something inside him surged with a force that had him nearly fang out. In a really good way. He wanted this; trust, approval, being recognized as someone to be trusted…

“But…”

“And he won’t harm you. Please, come in.”

Monroe stepped aside, too baffled, too confused, too busy fighting his urges to just jump the Grimm and make him his. He closed the door and Bud got as much distance between them as possible.

“Clari told me… about you being different. I can see that now. Uh…” He shot quick looks at Monroe. “And I’m sorry… she said you’re… that you and her are friends.”

“I guess we are.” Nick’s smile was disarming, warm and friendly, and Monroe swallowed hard.

This was what he had seen Nick do before. Calm a creature, talk soothingly, reasonably. He was himself and didn’t threaten unless necessary. He offered help. It wasn’t what Grimms did. Maybe a long time ago, how they had started out, but today they were hunter-killers.

“And I ran out on the job. I’m sorry. It’s just… I have a family and when I saw who you were… it was… I ran…” Bud finished miserably, still fidgety, expecting the worst.

“I understand. And I know it’s hard to believe, with all the stories about Grimms out there, but I’m not hunting any of you. I’m a cop. I uphold the law. If a creature breaks it, I’m going to arrest them.”

Monroe nearly rolled his eyes. Damned do-gooder!

“I’m not going after all creatures just because you are there.”

“Others will.”

Nick nodded. “But not me.”

Bud wrung his hands, shooting little looks at the blutbad. He finally dug into the pockets of his coverall and pulled out a card. His hands were still shaking as he held it out to the Grimm.

“If you need repairs again, call me.”

Nick accepted the card. “Thanks. And I will pay you. No freebies, okay? I’m not that person.”

Bud nodded. “Okay. No free stuff.”

Nick’s expression was serious, harder than before. “I mean it. I’m not going to have any of you work for me for free.”

Monroe nearly laughed. What had he been doing for the Grimm all the time? He had worked for free, that was it!

But he had enjoyed it and he had enjoyed the company. Maybe that had been the payment: Nick’s friendship. If it was, it was more than he could ever repay.

Bud nodded, nervously biting his lower lip. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “Uh, I… gotta go…?”

Nick was still this soothing, centered presence next to a blutbad. Monroe felt relaxed himself, though ready in case the elbebiber was just a decoy or a Trojan horse. You never knew.

“Thanks for coming by, Bud. I mean it.”

Monroe let him walk past, trying very hard to project the image of a good wolf, but he knew he was failing. When the door closed after the elbebiber, he shot Nick an ‘explain to me now!’ look.

The Grimm smiled slightly. “Long story.”

“There’s nothing on TV, so shoot.”

Nick fetched himself a bottle of water and sat down. “It all started with a broken fridge…”

*

Monroe listened to the tale in amazement. He shouldn’t be amazed, he knew. Not when it came to this man, but he was. Nick was... so very, very different from everything he had been told about Grimms. He wasn’t a killer or hunter, he was a normal guy trying to adjust to a heritage he didn’t want.

“He was scared just because of what I am,” Nick sighed, sounding tired. “It’s... weird.”

Monroe snorted. “You’re a Grimm. What did you expect?”

“You’re a blutbad and everyone’s scared of you,” the Grimm in question shot back angrily. “They don’t know you at all. They don’t know you went straight.”

It got him a shrug. “If you’re a prey creature, the first reaction is to run. You don’t want credentials and references when facing someone who is known to tear your throat out.”

Nick rubbed his head, careful of the healing wound. “It just bugs me. I didn’t do anything to him. He just... assumed the worst!”

“Get used to it. Won’t be the last time.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“And he came by to face his fear. That counts for something.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hey, you’re the first catch-and-release Grimm in creature history,” he teased.

“Catch-and-release Grimm?” Nick echoed, amusement in his eyes.

Monroe smirked. “You collect them, y’know.”

“If you start making Pokemon jokes, I’m out of here,” came the grouchy reply.

Monroe grinned, then peered closely at him. "You okay?" he asked softly, voice suddenly very serious.

"Just tired."

“Then get some rest.”

“I’m not sleepy,” came the reply.

“Just how old are you?”

Nick stuck out his tongue, looking so boyishly handsome, Monroe almost did something he would forever regret.

He jumped off the couch. “Tea?”

And without waiting for an answer, he made for the kitchen.


	9. Chapter 9

When he came back Nick lay on the couch, one arm resting on his stomach, the gray long-sleeve shirt hiding little of the slender form, and the other was thrown over his head, covering his eyes.

Monroe’s eyes never left Nick’s face as the blutbad approached, carrying a mug of tea. The arm moved as the Grimm felt him approach and he was given a smile, warm and so very much Nick, his stomach clenched. This time not from worry or fear. It was something different and something he felt every single time that smile was directed at him.

Nick sipped at his tea, those intense eyes never leaving him. There was a lot unspoken between them; had always been. Lately, it had become more, filled with emotions Monroe shied away from and Nick was still trying to work out for himself.

The tension grew.

It was so thick between them, Monroe felt like choking. He should run away, he should just go into another room, back into the kitchen, get some fresh air outside… anything but stay here.  
But he couldn’t move. The wolf was breaking free, wanted none of this stupidity, and it was about to take what Monroe really craved.

Without actively thinking about it, he reached out and ever-so-gently cupped the Grimm’s neck, surprised by his own boldness. The gentleness. Not the rush of blutbad need that he had felt with Angelina. Not this wildness, the yearning for a chase, the claim of another for a wild coupling.

No, this was completely different.

He knew the other man was human, was weaker than him, wasn’t one of his own kind. Blutbaden sometimes chose human partners, but it was a rare occurrence.

As rare as a Grimm and a blutbad working together.

Monroe’s eyes never left Nick's, keeping him pinned like a butterfly to a piece of wood, while those intensely expressive eyes with their liquid gray depths captured him in turn. His hand rested lightly on the pale neck, his thumb stroking over the softness, the warmth, feeling the beat of Nick’s pulse.

Enticing. But different from the inviting scent and feel of prey. So incredible, so precious…

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity and finally Monroe looked away, feeling his inner voice screech at his own cowardice. He made moves to rise, but a surprisingly strong hand clamped down on his left forearm.

"No…"

“Nick… I’m sorry. This… is a mistake.”

The gray eyes were wide, but not with fear. There was a strange kind of resolution in there, a question, a need to know, and a vulnerability that tore at Monroe’s heart.

“A mistake?” the Grimm echoed, voice level.

He cringed. “You’re injured,” he said lamely. “And it wouldn’t be… it can’t be…” He stopped, close to banging his head against the wall.

He had to leave. Now! And probably take a cold shower. A very cold shower!

“Monroe!”

It was more like fleeing a scene where he was a suspect than simply leaving. Monroe sought refuge outside, in the back yard, trying to get his breathing under control.

He had messed up! Utterly.

And things would never be the same again.

He inhaled deeply, the air moist with the fine spray of rain coming down.

“What am I doing here?” Monroe moaned softly.

* * *

Ever since that moment, the tension between the two men grew exponentially from day to day.  
Nick was quiet and he rarely met Monroe’s eyes. He went to rehab, his mandatory psychological sessions, and whenever he came from the hospital after getting his wounds checked, Monroe smelled the dried blood and antiseptics more acutely.

It made him sick.

Monroe himself was always with him. He never let the Grimm leave his sight, even if Nick insisted he would be fine. He drove him everywhere, even to the precinct to meet Hank and share a coffee. Monroe would remain outside, alert, listening intently, and only once did he feel something creep up his spine. It wasn’t a sense of deadly danger, more like a warning of something powerful near-by.

The regnant.

Monroe felt dread rise inside him, like all his sins suddenly there for everyone to read. The regnant had told him to keep Nick safe, keep the Grimm safe until he was all healed up. If not… what then?

He didn’t want to ponder it. Most likely he would end up in small chunks on someone’s menu. And he would deserve it for his failures.

Nick came down the steps not much later.

 

The blutbad was more withdrawn, taking to his daily routine with an intensity that had him forget everything around him. Pilates took up more time, he started on an old project of rebuilding an ancient clock from scratch, and he took to cooking with a vengeance. The freezer compartment was close to overflowing with precooked meals.

Something had to give, and something gave.

It was Nick.

When Monroe got out under the shower in the morning, after Pilates, he found the younger man standing there, looking determined.

“This has to stop,” Nick declared firmly.

There was a decisive expression on the young features, the mouth set, the eyes hard. Monroe couldn’t but take in the sight of the slender form, wearing a long-sleeve black shirt under the Portland PD sweater jacket, the jeans accenting all the right places and…

Get your mind out of that gutter, Monroe!

“What? What’s going on?” he managed and no, he wasn’t sounding strained.

“You don’t have to do this any more, Monroe.”

“Do what?” Okay, what part of the script hadn’t he gotten?

“Room in with me. I’m fine, okay, healing. I can defend myself if something really thinks it can take me out.”

"I’m not leaving," the blutbad snapped.

"I'm fine," Nick ground out. "I can take care of myself."

“You’re not fine! You still have a hole in your side and your brain was rattled!”

“It’s been weeks, Monroe! I’ll be back on desk duty next week! I know this is awkward for you and it is for me.”

Monroe looked into the expressive eyes and saw something that startled him. It was a tiredness that was far from physical, and it was a defeat he had never seen there before.

"No," he stated, voice changing into a much more intense tone.

"Then tell me what's going on!" Nick exploded. "Your… your behavior… and that thing between us…"

Monroe froze, breath lodging in his chest.

This thing between them. Wonderful and intense and so very, very wrong. He wanted something forbidden. He wanted a taste of something lethal, dangerous… and so very appealing. It would be taking advantage of a man who had just lost his almost-fiance, who had been shot, who had so much piled on top of him…

"Monroe, this has to stop!" Nick’s angry voice now pulled him back out of his thoughts. “We can’t go on like this! I’m not blind or oblivious to this!”

"I’ll pack my stuff," was the immediate answer and the blutbad turned to leave.

Nick followed, determined, like a dog after a bone.

The blutbad was just tired of it all. He knew he was about to lose something precious, something unique. A friendship with a Grimm, with Nick. Something he had never wanted, had tried to push away, had never wanted to take this far. But it had gone this far.

It had gone even farther.

Because Nick had been shot, things had changed. His emotions were no longer under control. Angelina had torn open old wounds and Monroe hadn’t had time to lick them. Their little romp in the park had broken down walls and rebuilding them had taken a back seat to the very real danger of losing Nick.

“Monroe, stop!”

He turned and came up sharp against the shorter man. "What?!" he snarled, showing fangs.

He was losing control; fast. If he didn’t get this settled, if he didn’t get out of here…

He tried to push past the other, but Nick placed a hand onto his chest and pushed him against the wall.

Monroe could shake him off; oh so easily. He was a lot stronger than the human Grimm. He could break his bones without a sweat, tear him to pieces… But he never would. He couldn’t.

Nick… Nick was special in so many ways and Monroe knew that whatever happened, he would always protect him. He had protected him against Angelina and today he knew that if push had come to shove, he would have taken Nick’s side. No doubts.

Hard gray eyes bore into him, and then Nick was suddenly completely in his face. Totally. With no space left between them. Lips against lips.

Monroe might claim that this wasn't him, that the person now leaning forward to meet that intimate contact was someone else, but that would be lying.

The kiss, as kisses went, wasn't the angels singing, bells ringing kind of kiss. It wasn't fumbling or stumbling. It wasn't perfect or breath-stealing. It was a contact of lips on lips, and it was the beginning and the completion of events that had started so long ago. It was a kiss that became another kiss, and another, that transformed from close-mouthed to tongue-involved, and only when Nick made a brief sound of discomfort did Monroe snap back to reality.

Reality was a Grimm in his arms and he was looking into a flushed face, warm eyes, framed by tousled hair. He looked adorable. And edible. Well, not like that. In a very good, non-violent blutbaden way!

Both were breathing hard.

No words were spoken. Monroe reached up and ran explorative fingers over the smooth skin.

Amazement warred with terror at what had happened. He felt the urge to do more, to claim what was only his to kiss and taste, but years of strict regimen and dieting held him back. He needed to be in control. He didn’t want to hurt Nick. There had been too much of that lately.

His fingers ghosted over the headwound, scabbed and still reddish, but with the stitches out and the torn flesh mending.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Nick said, voice whisper-rough.

Monroe buried a hand in Nick’s t-shirt, liking the feel of the fabric, the warmth from skin. No feverish heat, just normal warmth. So very enticing, wonderful, incredible…

Their lips crushed together again, beard scraping against shaven skin, and Monroe growled with the rising tension between them. A tension of another kind. The Grimm was by now fully leaning against him, trapping him against the wall, and he was giving as good as he got.

Weeks. Weeks upon weeks of pent-up emotions; both of them. This wasn’t just a freaky blutbad thing. It wasn’t a weird Grimm thing either. It was them. Pure and simple.

And it was breathtaking.

 

tbc... in 2012 :)


	10. Chapter 10

Finally they came up for air, panting. Monroe’s hands were resting on the soft material of the washed-out jeans, holding them very close together. His fingers played their own little melody as they caressed the firm behind.

Mine!

The possessive thoughts rose unbidden and he closed his eyes, trying to even out his breathing, trying to actually breathe.

Slow down, Monroe told himself. One wrong step and things would blow up craptastically in his face. Keep it together, control, steady control. Don’t lose it. He’s not a blutbad. He wouldn’t be able to take it.

“You’re thinking too much,” the Grimm told him, a smile in his voice.

“You’re not giving this enough thought,” he replied, voice choked.

“Really? Because you’re a man or because you’re a blutbad?”

Monroe shuddered.

“I’m bisexual, Monroe. Have always been. Juliette knew. I loved her. Like you loved Angelina. I didn’t want a man in all that time, though I looked. Like women look at other men and can appreciate them. Or men can appreciate a good-looking woman.” Nick’s voice was intense. “Juliette knew my preferences for both genders. I never made a secret of it. I could have fallen for another woman, but you… I fell for you. This started a while back and it has only grown. And don’t you think I haven’t read about blutbaden?”

“The books,” he said numbly, still trying to wrap his head around the ‘I fell for you’ part of Nick’s speech.

“Yep. Quite detailed books.”

“Books can’t tell you everything, Nick.”

He fell for me. For me!

Monroe was unable to understand that. By human standards he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous. Angelina had been all over him for reasons only another blutbad would understand and he wouldn’t have been a hot-blooded blutbad if he hadn’t been all over her. She was a strong, beautiful woman. Any blutbad would want to have her.

She had chosen him.

Now Nick had told him in so many words just the same.

He fell for me, Monroe thought again.

It was as good as the three-words-confession to a blutbad.

He ran his hands over Nick’s body. It was wonderful, intoxicating, and it was bittersweet. It was purely Nick in his openness, his silky feel, where he brushed over exposed skin, his delightful warmth, and it was his pain and desperation. The scent of the Grimm invaded his senses, made him crave more.

Crap, this wasn’t going well. This was taking a unfuckingbelievable fast flying leap out the window!

“I’m not that naïve. I’m not that easy. This… I made up my mind about it a while ago, decided that if I got the chance, I’d take it. I want you, Monroe.”

“Nick…”

“I know what you are. I’ve seen you wolf out. And I’m still here.”

He swallowed. Of course Nick knew. The Grimm knew. And he had no idea what Grimms had collected about his kind in the past. Someone could have written down the Mating Habits of the Wild Blutbad in Nature and drawn little porny pics, too.

“And I trust you.”

It was like the last blow and Monroe wanted to howl in fury and desperation. How could the Grimm trust him? He was ruled by his nether instincts, despite all the control he claimed he had, and it had gotten someone killed! It had gotten Hap killed!

“Monroe…”

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe Nick was too easy in his acceptance of a blutbad as a partner. Maybe they were both going about this the wrong way. Maybe there was no right way.

“You want it,” Nick said calmly.

Of course he wanted it, wanted Nick. He wanted everything with this man, wanted to touch and taste and hold. He wanted him so badly, it hurt.

Nick arched into Monroe’s exploring touch, leaned into the lips ghosting over his skin. The blutbad wanted to nibble at the smooth neck, but if this continued, he couldn’t guarantee for anything. The nibble would become more and burying his fangs in the inviting flesh was just one of the many things that would quickly end whatever it was that was about to happen here.

With Angelina it had been the pure wildness, the freedom, the smell of the forest and the air and her. Just purely and simply her. Female blutbaden, when taunting a male, were irresistible. She had wanted him, he had wanted her, and the need had pushed away all logical thinking. Years of going straight, all blown away in one night.

Because he had lost control.

But Nick wasn’t blutbad; he wasn’t female. Still, he was intoxicating, he was desirable, he was powerful and dangerous and he smelled incredibly good.

His hands slid under the t-shirt, encountering more of that soft skin stretching over firm muscles and Nick was like a cat seeking attention.

So good. So tactile. So arousing and addictive. He wanted to taste it all, he wanted to hold this man in his arms and mark him, make him his.

More kisses were traded, tongues and teeth meeting with growing force, until Monroe pulled back, noticing the renewed winces.

"Monroe!" Nick protested.

He studied the still too drawn and pale face. He knew he had put a lot of those lines there with his behavior. Nick had gone through a rough spot the size of Oregon in the past weeks and Monroe hadn’t helped.

He stroked over the smooth skin, delighting in the feel of it. Not curvy like a woman, far from Angelina, who was all hard muscles and blutbad firmness. Nick wasn’t a woman either; he was a man and he was strong and powerful and a Grimm. He wanted him in so many ways, but he wouldn’t endanger the healing.

Gray eyes softened a little. As if Nick was reading his mind. There was still the spark of arousal there, but nothing imminent, nothing like the ‘don’t think just fuck’ emotions of before. Nick was in no way up to anything in the sexual department and that realization caged the wolf abruptly. Even the inner animal wouldn’t want this pain inflicted on his mate. Monroe had no intention at all to make him worse again.

They had time.

He brushed their lips together again.

"As much as I like this," Monroe rumbled, "I'd prefer the couch. You would, too."

The Grimm smiled; that small, infuriating smile. So knowing and so… Monroe sought for words. Nick smiling at him this way always gave him goosebumps because it said ‘good boy’ or ‘thank you’ in his own very warm way.

The smile didn’t wipe away the pain or the exhaustion lingering deeply in him, but it reassured Monroe on a completely different level. Nick pushed away from the taller man. The blutbad almost groaned at the sight of a very ravaged looking Nick walking into the living room.

Damn his intentions to wait! he groused as his eyes fell on the butter-soft jeans stretching to enticingly tight in just the right places.

Somehow Nick ended up underneath him when they fell onto the couch, looking even more rumpled, even more debauched without even being so, and Monroe smiled wolfishly. Pun intended.

“What?” Nick demanded, a bit snappishly because of the look.

“Nothing. I just figured out what my favorite sight of you is.” Monroe’s smile grew. “Aside from the no-clothes-on one, that is. Because I think that is going to be a very much number one favorite soon.”

“Ah.”

The Grimm reached up and buried one hand in the longish hair. “I think I like the view from here just fine, too. You planning on doing something about it?”

“About what?”

“Being all hot and bothered?”

Monroe chuckled. “Right now? No.”

“Monroe, I’m fine…”

“One more word and I’ll end this right here and right now!” he growled.

Nick gazed up at him, face calm, serious. The hard edge in his eyes was back and it gave Monroe the shivers. Strong fingers caressed his jaw, his beard, down his neck, along his tendons and veins.

“I’m not made of glass, Monroe.”

No. Definitely not.

“I won’t hurt you. Not like this, Nick. Never like this or otherwise.”

That hand, gentle and tender as it ran through his hair, was distracting. “I know,” he said softly, emotions shining in his eyes.

Monroe shied away from them, cursing, but then he just concentrated on his Grimm, tasting the skin he had yearned to touch for so long. It was like water for a drowning man. His teeth scraped over the smooth neck and left a mark that had Nick hitch a breath.

He wanted to do more, bite harder, leave a hickey blutbad style that told everyone that the Grimm belonged to him, that he would fight for this. Nothing would take this man from him. Not even Angelina. If she ever came back, Monroe wouldn’t fall for her again.

Never again.

He licked over the mark, savoring the taste of Nick, the wildness inside him rising with the hunger for more.

Mine, the beast crooned. Mine, mine, mine!

He put a lid on it.

Not now; not their first time. And never out of control.

Still, the chant continued, from behind that closed door, sounding happy and ecstatic.

Mine. Mine alone. My Grimm.

“I take it you want me to stay then,” the blutbad murmured against the warm, soft lips.

Nick smiled, nipping at Monroe’s lips. “As long as you want.”

He clamped down on that tasty mouth and silenced him, aside from the low key moans and sighs.

His alone. His Grimm.

Mine! the wolf howled.

He would take his time; no wild rush, no running and chasing. The chase had already happened, had been different, was new. He hadn’t brought down the Grimm; the Grimm had roped him in.

His Grimm. His Nick.

Monroe nearly lost it when Nick’s hands were under his clothes, stroking over his skin. He whimpered when the strong fingers brushed over sensitive nerves, teased and aroused, and he pulled back, breathing hard, looking into the equally aroused eyes of the other man.

“Monroe…”

It was a plea and an absolution in one. Nick wanted him and he wanted this man so badly, it hurt. With an immense effort he pulled back.

“When you get the all clear,” he said roughly.

Nick stared at him as if he had lost his mind, but Monroe wouldn’t gamble with the Grimm’s health. He wouldn’t make this worse. Nick needed to get back on his feet, needed to be one hundred and ten percent in his job.

Burying his head in the crook of the Grimm’s neck, he exhaled sharply.

“Please,” he begged.

He had no idea who he was talking to. Nick or himself. It was a plea to stop, not push him any further, accept that this couldn’t be right now…

“…please…”

Strong fingers carded into his hair, massaging gently. He inhaled the familiar scent of the other man, let it soothe him, though it was just as arousing, too.

“When I get the all clear,” Nick murmured.

It was a promise.

Monroe held him as they arranged themselves on the couch, savoring the full body contact, the shared heat. Nick let a hand rest on the warm skin under Monroe’s shirt, smiling lazily. He had to kiss him again, addicted to this man in all the best ways.

Nick hummed softly and Monroe rested one hand protectively over the scar, then closed his eyes, letting the Grimm’s presence lull him into a doze.

Mine…

 

tbc...


	11. Chapter 11

Nick returned to desk duty a day later. The doctor was very pleased with his recovery and while the scar was still pretty prominent, the tenderness was gone and he had full mobility. He hadn’t gotten the clearance for full duty yet, but that would happen by the end of the week. He felt good, perfectly fine – a word Monroe hated hearing from him for some reason – and his first trip took him to the corner market where Clari was just wrapping up a transaction with a customer.

She smiled widely at him. “Detective! It’s so good to see you!”

“Hello, Clari. How are you?”

“Very good. Now that I see you’re back on duty, I’m even better. How are you?”

“Great, actually. I just have to convince the doctors and I’ll be back for real. Desk duty for now.”

She nodded. “I am so relieved.”

“Hank told me you sent a box of donuts for the precinct. He’s complaining about gaining weight.”

Clare chuckled. “I know they like them.”

“Thanks again. For everything.” He turned serious. “I remember you visiting me. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

She blushed a little. “I didn’t want to disturb you, detective.”

“You didn’t. I’m actually quite flattered. I know you talked to Bob and he came by. I hated to have him scared of me without even knowing who I am. Aside from a Grimm.”

“I told him. He said the blutbad was there, too.”

“Monroe. His name is Monroe.”

She nodded, accepting the hint. “He protects you.” And that wasn’t even a question.

“Yes.”

“It’s unusual. Then again, so are you, detective.” Her hare features came to the forefront for a moment, then she quieted down. “I’m glad you are the Grimm around here, not anyone else. You’re a good man.”

She handed him his coffee and the donuts he hadn’t even ordered.

“Thank you, Clari.”

She smiled and waved off the cash. “On the house today.”

“Clari…”

“Not because you are a Grimm, detective. Because you are you. Because I want it.”

Nick felt like blushing. He hated the fear and the caution creatures that had never harmed anyone showed him. He hated the fact that if he wanted to, he could blackmail them into servitude, leech off them. He wanted it clear right from the start that he wasn’t that person.

Clari held out a hand, expression firm. “I promise, detective. No freeloading.”

“Thank you.” He smiled more and shook her hand. “I’ll give your regards to Hank.” He winked, then left.

*

Of course Hank was ecstatic to get the wonderful sweets. He was even more ecstatic to have his partner back. And Nick was more than glad to be back.

He had missed work. He had missed his colleagues. Sitting at home, the tension that had been between him and Monroe, all the complications in his life, and too much time to think about it all.

He almost pounced on the latest case and Hank chuckled.

“Missed this?”

“Believe it or not: yes.”

 

Three days later he was back on active duty. His evaluation had gone swimmingly. He had passed with flying colors. Renard had welcomed him back and things were almost like before.

Just almost.

* * *

Monroe had treated him like he was made of the most fragile glass for days and Nick was close to screaming out his frustration that the other man wasn’t giving him what he wanted. Kissing was nice, and some fondling was fun, but he wanted more. He wanted Monroe so badly, he had been running around half hard one morning just thinking of the man.

He was fine. Completely okay. He was healed and nothing hurt. He was cleared for police duty, damnit! They wouldn’t let him go out and chase bad guys if there was any doubt that the wound wasn’t all healed up and his body in perfect shape.

So he drove to the blutbad’s house where Monroe had been hiding out a lot lately, and he was planning to put an end to this… this… tension.

It didn’t need much.

Actually, one look into the hazel eyes had them turn more red and more blutbad in a second, and the low rumble set Nick’s nerves on fire.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t gotten laid in a while. Maybe it was just the thought of finally getting more from Monroe. Maybe it was something else.

He didn’t give a flying whoopee about it.

 

Monroe had tried to work with the distance between them, give Nick time to get cleared for duty, not interfere with the healing, but it had been hell. Monroe hadn’t jacked off under the shower in ages and now it had happened more and more often.

Images of the terrible wound, Nick’s still, pale face, haunted him. Touching, caressing and kissing the man had been a way to reassure the wolf in him that his potential mate was healing, but he so badly wanted to lay a claim to this man, it was tearing him apart.

And then Nick was suddenly there and everything about him spoke more clearly than any words.

The wolf pushed forward, straining against the shackles.

The volatile cocktail of emotions bubbled and fizzed, and finally spilled over. Monroe advanced on the Grimm, his blood boiling with the want and need, the surge of taking what was his. Now.

Nick showed no fear. He should, but he didn’t. There was nothing there but a reflection of what Monroe experienced. The smile was inviting and Monroe felt a thrill course down his spine.

And it made him do something no blutbad would ever understand.

He went for it.

Nick’s smell was overpowering, the arousal so plain around him, Monroe didn’t really have to employ his nose. He could almost taste it and it was mouthwatering.

"Do you really want that?" he breathed, intoxication making him lean forward until their lips were just an inch apart. "Do you?"

Nick’s eyes sparked with a power that had the wolf draw back in almost-shock, he felt it entrap him, snare him, rope him in and turn the predator into caught prey.

The Grimm was looking at him, not prey. Never prey. This was his equal, a predator so powerful... the animal inside him whimpered, wanting this so badly, wanting to taste and to smell and to touch. He wanted this man and the challenge and the danger.

Their lips met, a collision of body parts, and hands suddenly clutched the other to keep from falling over.

It was like kerosene and a spark. It was an explosion.

Nick's lips opened and he welcomed Monroe, closing his eyes as sensations overwhelmed him from just this kiss.

It was long. It was deep. It was hot. It relayed more than any words could have. There was hunger and need and gentleness and sheer raw sex. Monroe was ready to come here and now. In his pants. Didn't care.

Groping hands were everywhere, Running up his pants, suddenly underneath his shirt, skipping over his stomach. He felt the Grimm, full body contact, and it seemed to throw him off balance and complete him in one. Not like on the couch, not those moments of sharing warmth and trading kisses. This was them, unleashed, unbound, seeking the other and opening up in a way that should be scary.

It wasn’t.

His world shrunk down to one particular sensation, one feeling, one need.

Nick. Kissing Nick. Touching him.

Everything else was… unimportant.

His body tingled with excitement and it had nothing to do with the thrill of a kill, of having his prey, though right now the predator was coming through.

Fangs extended.

Claws grew, tickling the delicate skin.

Nick shuddered, his head falling back against the wall with a thump and it exposed his throat.

Did he even know what he was doing to the blutbad? Self-control was going out the window fast.  
His whole being radiated 'Take me here, take me now!’

Monroe wanted him, wanted to be close, touch him, run his hands over the warm skin, feel the muscles twitch, listen to every whisper of breath, every beat of his heart, every moan and whimper.

He scraped fangs over the pale skin, heard Nick’s groan, felt blunt nails dig into his clothes, scrabbling at him.

They had to get somewhere else. Somewhere more private. The wolf wanted his mate in his bedroom, on his bed, naked, waiting to be taken. Monroe realized that while it was wishful thinking, the Grimm might not be inclined to be just prey.

 

Nick had no time to do more than just gasp when they were finally in the bedroom, then the hungry lips fastened on his and he was pushed against the wall, connecting hard. He opened his mouth and Monroe took the opportunity to delve inside. A leg was wedged between his thighs and he shuddered as the contact became more intense, as hands were suddenly under his shirt, and then he felt the claws.

He groaned at the sensation. Hard, sharp claws against warm skin. Tickling, teasing, arousing. His legs opened more and their hips were suddenly very close. Fangs grazed his neck and Monroe’s deft fingers were undoing buttons, pushing away fabric that was in the way.

The blutbad growled possessively, but no words were uttered.

Nick’s whole body thrummed with need, vibrated with lust, and he wanted it so badly.

 

Monroe was proven right that day.

Just like it was proven that the blood of a Grimm didn’t make him lose control. If anything, the taste of Nick, powerful and sharp and clear, had him bond to this man in a way he had never experienced before. Not even with Angelina.

The Grimm was in control, holding the vicious monster at bay, taming it, calming it, letting the blutbad live his sexual mating instinct without tearing the vulnerable flesh apart.

Equal. Mate. Mine.

It helped that Nick was... adventurous. And flexible. And not submissive at all.

tbc...


	12. Chapter 12

Monroe studied the naked man with him in bed. They did that a lot, lying together, running hands over the other’s skin, and he found he was slowly getting addicted to it: human contact in the form of his Grimm.

It didn’t have to be a wild rut every time. The first claim had left him with blackouts as to what had really happened and the very primal part of him only remembered the intense pleasure, the taste of his mate, and the scent of his claim-surrender-challenge-need. Like with Angelina he didn’t recall much, but at least he wasn’t picking rabbit fur out of his teeth.

Though his teeth had been biting into Nick, drawing that intoxicating blood of his Grimm, and he had left quite a mark. Nick had soothed the momentary horror with a sleepy mumble to ‘chill and c’mere’, and he had been drawn into a lazy kiss that had scattered all doubts.

No, they didn’t have wild sex all the time. Leisurely sex was wonderful and blowjobs were fantastic, and getting Nick off with his mouth and fingers alone was a sight to behold.

Earlier encounters with his own kind had never held such depths and it was only growing. He was afraid and looking forward to it in one. He loved seeing the Grimm undone, panting his name, yelling his climax, hair tousled and skin flushed.

Scars had remained of the terrible injuries. The one on his abdomen was ragged and still prominently visible against the otherwise unblemished skin. Monroe ran explorative finger tips over the mark, drawing a little hitched breath out of the man sharing his bed with him. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against the scar, letting his tongue bathe it briefly before drawing back and looking into those wide eyes.

The scar was a reminder of his own near-loss. It had been the wake-up call. It had been his last chance. He had seen it in all its stages, from nearly-fresh to healing to now. The smell of blood, dried and flaking, Nick’s blood, was still a bright memory.

Nick was silent as he watched him, then wrapped a hand around his neck and drew Monroe into a kiss. Slow, deep, expressing so much without talking.

No words.

It defined their relationship so well. No words needed. He let a hand slide up the naked side, following the gentle curve of the ribs and splaying his fingers across the smooth, well-defined chest. Nick carded his fingers into his hair, caressing him in turn.

Monroe’s eyes were on the mark on Nick’s shoulder. The bite mark, recent and plain as words to any blutbad who might see it. He nuzzled over the light scar, licking it, pleased with the sign that this man was his.

The Grimm hummed and snuggled into his embrace, relaxed and warm and near-boneless in his arms. So trusting. A trust that wasn’t wrong.

"Never took you for such a cuddler," Monroe murmured and ran his fingers through the mussed up hair.

"Not hearing you complain," was the drowsy reply.

"Not complaining."

"Good."

Monroe smiled and pressed a kiss to the exposed neck, watching goose bumps rise.

Too bad it had needed Nick getting shot for him to realize that this was what they had been heading for. Unstoppable, maybe fate.

Nick was dozing off in his embrace and he watched, taken by the sight of the younger man, naked, in his bed, relaxed and alive and at ease.

His Grimm.

* * *

Monroe was the first to wake. Blutbaden lived on very little sleep and years of a firm routine had him wake up at the same time each day. He smiled briefly as he looked at his little Grimm. Nick was still fast asleep, spread out over his side of the large bed in full splendor, one arm flung out. His hair was in wild disarray and there was a beard shadow Monroe found rather appealing.

He followed the call of nature, then started his morning routine. Pilates, then a shower, then breakfast.

The insistent ringing of a cell phone announced a call for Nick and he listened with one ear as his partner took it. There was a brief exchange, then hurried footsteps came from upstairs.

“Case?” Monroe asked casually, holding a coffee-to-go mug for Nick to take along.

“Yeah. Body found at the river.”

A cream cheese bagel was next. Nick took it gratefully as he shrugged into his jacket.

“Have fun,” Monroe teased.

Nick was already chewing on the bagel and just waved with it, then he was gone.

Monroe leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling strangely at ease like he hadn’t in a very long time. At home and settled and balanced. He let his gaze roam over the open living room area that no longer resembled the cold, impersonal space he had first seen so many months ago. It now held so many of Monroe’s things, it was almost like his own home now.

He smiled and sipped at his coffee.

Tamed. Well, no, that wasn’t the right word for it. A blutbad was never tame; far from it. The beast in him was still there, wild and violent if let lose, but the temptation was gone. He had found that looking at a young girl in red was no longer so bad. He still reacted to it, but it was like a distant twinge. He felt more at ease when seeing the alarming color worn by possible prey. It wasn’t just the regular sex coupled with his regimen. It was something else, something deeper within him.

Maybe it was a Grimm thing; maybe the Grimm bloodline had a magic all of their own.

Monroe smirked behind his mug. Right. Nick would have a fit if he came up with that theory.

With Nick out of the house, the blutbad mentally went through the clocks he wanted to work on. An antiques dealer had sent him several small ones, requesting his opinion, and he had already told the man that he might be able to get them working again. The hefty sum offered for his services had been a surprise, but apparently the client really wanted them fixed.

Taking his coffee with him, Monroe walked into his work space and set to work.

* * *

The case had taken the better part of two weeks and it had been high profile enough to run Nick and Hank slightly ragged. The mayor had been breathing down Renard’s neck. Unlike other superiors Nick had experienced in his career, Renard was good at taking the pressure and not immediately turning it onto the case detectives. He told them firmly what he expected and that they find the killer of a young woman fast, especially since the woman was the mayor’s niece. But that was what he always did. This time he only reminded them of the press watching; nothing else.

So two weeks later Nick resurfaced from work, with all reports written, the perp behind bars and awaiting trial, and they had a few days to breathe more easily. The weekend was coming up and no new cases had been handed to them.

Nick and Monroe had barely seen each other all that time. The blutbad had tinkered around his home, doing ‘repairs’ as he had told Nick before the case had involved all the Grimm’s free time, and Nick had only had enough brain capacity to feed himself every night and then crash. In the morning he had grabbed a coffee and a bagel at Clari’s store, then headed off to work, interviewing friends and colleagues, following evidence, doggedly on the trail of a non-creature killer.

And wasn’t that new that there wasn’t a creature incident in those two weeks either.

Nick was too involved in the murder of Emma Jenssen to have any Grimm time anyway. He didn’t even have Monroe time!

That one moment hadn’t been enough, though it had been intense.

 

 _The door had just closed when Monroe pushed him against it, claiming his mouth in a kiss. Nick didn't protest, simply pulled him close by grabbing his open shirt._

 _The kiss was long and slow, not leading to a sexual encounter, and finally Monroe leaned against him, exhaling slowly._

 _"Monroe?" Nick murmured after a moment._

 _"No talking," the blutbad growled, silencing that mouth with another kiss._

 _The Grimm responded and he didn't give a damn. Right now it was good to feel this, to feel this man with him, kissing and being kissed._

 _They separated again, Nick looking at the taller man, aware of so much. Like how little time they had had lately, how fresh they were into this again redefined relationship of theirs, and how badly he wanted to be with Monroe. But the job demanded a lot from him and Monroe respected it._

 _He wrapped a hand around the blutbad’s neck, cupping his head, and pulled him into a new kiss, this one almost chaste._

 _They finally broke apart after an indefinite amount of time and Monroe straightened. Nick was still silent, watching him._

 _Both were aware that Nick had only come for a change of clothes, that nothing else would… could happen. Nick felt the warmth and weight of Monroe’s hand on his scar, the only confession of the other man how worried he was right now._

 _He stroked over the broad chest, smiling apologetically and Monroe stepped back with a nod._

 _Nick was gone within an hour, freshly showered, shaved and dressed._

 _He pushed any thought of his partner out of his mind, concentrating only on his work._

 

Now, at the end of the case, that would have to be rectified. Monroe had been so patient, so accepting, and still so much there for him, Nick felt a lump in his throat. Supportive. With no conditions or demands.

Damn. He felt emotions bubble up inside him, all of them pretty intense and mostly sappy, and he felt them choke him.

A few weeks into their more intimate relations and he was… what? What was this to Nick? To Monroe himself?

He didn’t know. And right now, what they already had, this intimacy, this ease and the trust, it was enough.

More than enough.

* * *

Nick watched his partner as Monroe fiddled with a clock part. He had chosen to drop by the house and while a lot of the other man’s stuff had migrated to Nick’s place, turning it more into a home than it had been ever since Juliette had left, there was still a lot here, too.

The welcome kiss had been no less than breathtaking and it had Nick yearning for a lot more. Monroe apparently, too, judging by the blowjob, which turned his knees to jelly. They hadn’t made it to the bedroom and the carpet had seen some action.

Nick ached pleasantly and while there were teeth marks on his neck, he couldn’t care less.

What he did care about was the fact the Monroe seemed kind of distracted. Since they hadn’t seen each other for two weeks, except for a hasty hello and good-bye and that really intense kiss, Nick hadn’t noticed. He had been too involved with the chase of a killer. Now he had time and the need was taking a backseat.

“You okay?”

Monroe looked up, peering over his glasses. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve been staring at the innards of this clock like they hold all the answers to the world’s problems.”

Monroe blinked. “Uh, what?”

“What’s going on, Monroe?”

The blutbad was silent, still playing with a small cog. Finally, after apparently composing his thoughts, he looked up and at Nick.

“You have those books of that aunt of yours, right?”

“Ri-ight,” he answered slowly.

Not the kind of conversation he had been expecting. They hardly talked about Aunt Marie’s heritage in form of all the creature books and weapons and whatever else was in the trailer. Actually, Monroe had never actively asked about any of that stuff, like if he didn’t know it didn’t exist, or something like that.

“Could you look something up? I mean, if you guys even have something on them.”

Nick frowned. “What are you talking about? Who is ‘them’?”

Monroe fidgeted a little. “I… ran into something.”

The Grimm in Nick suddenly sat up and took notice. A lot of notice. And from Monroe’s look of alarm, he had noticed the shift, too. Nick felt a kind of tension he usually got when Grimm things were about to happen.

“What something?” he asked, more sharply than usual.

The blutbad got up and moved around nervously. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated.

“Monroe…” Nick took a step forward. “What happened?”

“Just… look up regnant, okay? Or premier. If there is anything at all on them.”

“And what are they?”

“You tell me.”

Nick shook his head, mystified. “What are you talking about?”

“Just… go wherever those books are and have a look, okay? And no, I don’t want to know where you hide them. Better this way.”

“Monroe…”

“Go. I really don’t want to know. Shoo!”

He looked into the brown eyes, noticing no sign of the wolf, just this weird confusion mixed with what could be worry. But about what? And when had Monroe run into this regnant thing?

“Alright,” Nick said slowly and picked up his keys. “I’ll go. I’ll call you, okay? My place.”

Monroe just nodded.

So Nick went, mystified as to what was going on.


	13. Chapter 13

He had spent hours at Marie’s trailer, looking through every book he could find, even those labeled for one species only, but there wasn’t much on those regnants or premiers. A vague note here, a more vague comment there, and some really mysterious sketches that were so faded that he hardly saw a thing on a journal page from over a century ago.

Leaning back in the chair, Nick ran a hand through his hair, exhaling softly.

Regnants. Huh. Whatever they were, whyever Monroe had asked about them, they were rare enough that no one from his family line or whoever had come before him had met them, apparently.

Going through the books where he had found some references again, Nick couldn’t get any more facts from them. Sometimes he wished there was a kind of GrimmNet or something, a way to search online.

Wishful thinking, yeah.

Other Grimms might have stumbled over this mysterious creature, but he had no contact to them and Marie had told him she hadn’t either. They lived alone, they died alone.

Nick shivered.

He finally closed up the trailer once more and headed home. It was already dark and a light snow was falling. The lights at his home were still on and he smiled when he heard the cello as he walked through the door.

Monroe was in the living room, eyes holding a faraway look as he played a haunting melody that was touching something deep inside. He stopped when he discovered Nick, though the Grimm held no illusion that he hadn’t been scented already.

“Hey,” he said quietly and slipped out of his winter jacket, dumping it on a chair.

“Hey yourself.”

Nick sat down, clasping his hands as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I looked through everything. I’m none the wiser than before. Care to tell me why you asked for this?”

Monroe carefully put the expensive instrument in its stand, stowing the bow. “I had a visitor the first day you came over to my place, after you were discharged from the hospital.”

Nick’s brows rose. “What? Who?”

Monroe gave him an exasperated look. “Who do you think who? A regnant, Nick!”

He knew he was staring like the rookie he still was, but this time he was entitled to it. “Are you sure? I mean…”

“I’m pretty sure because I saw him up close and personal.”

Grimm instincts flared and Monroe raised his hands as if to ward off an outbreak. “No, wait, not that close and personal. But he was here. Or it. Whatever. He sounded male. Anyway. He was there and he was watching you.”

“Me?!”

“From what I got, yeah. Asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“What?!”

“Boy, you really are still suffering from that headshot,” the blutbad remarked wryly.

“Monroe, what’s going on? You make me run through a million references and look at a ton of weird stuff in Marie’s books. For what? What are regnants?”

“Fairy tales of the creature world. Legends. Stuff of horror tales and fantasies.”

“Like Grimms.”

“Only you guys are real.”

“Regnants apparently, too.” He leaned back into the chair, shaking his head. “Geez!”

“My grandmamma told me a few things, but I never took it for the real stuff.”

“Like Grimms,” Nick repeated.

“Oh, I took you for real,” Monroe laughed, shaking his head. “But regnants…?”

“What are they, Monroe?”

“Royalty, if the old woman was right.”

“Royalty?”

He shrugged. “According to her. No idea if that’s true. Fairy tales and all, y’know. And creatures don’t have kings or queens or even emperors. We have packs and flocks and loners. And the packs have an alpha. There are no tribes, just families. Sure, Mellifers have queens, but even they aren’t royalty. They are leaders, alphas, and if one dies, another one will take over. I never heard of any royal bloodline anywhere. Anyway, regnants. They are territorial. Apparently worse than blutbaden. They just don’t take a square of land, they decide on a city.”

“Like Portland?”

Another shrug. “Maybe.”

“For what?”

“No idea.”

“But this regnant or premier or whatever told you to keep me safe, Monroe! Why? Why me?”

“Because you’re a Grimm? Maybe he likes you.”

“Not funny.”

“Not being funny.” Monroe looked at him, eyes serious. “Regnants are serious stuff, dude. Really serious.”

“You get that from fairy tales?” Nick teased. “Look at what human fairy tales made of you guys. We have no idea what’s true and what isn’t.”

Monroe shook his head. “You weren’t there, Nick. You didn’t feel what I did. If this regnant had wanted to, he would have taken me out before I could even twitch a muscle. He was like the super-creature of the creature world. Scary. Really, really scary.”

Nick was silent, digesting that. “And this scary as shit creature wants me protected?”

“Apparently.”

“Why?”

“Like I said: no idea. And he apparently told a hexenbiest to keep an eye on you, too.”

The Grimm looked like he was going to have a heart attack. He stared at Monroe, mouth open, no sound coming out.

“Describe her!” he then snapped.

Monroe did. The beautiful blond with the long, straight hair. The ethereal beauty who looked like a demon underneath. He didn’t add the distinctive scent of the hexenbiest. Grimms didn’t smell them like blutbaden did.

“They serve powerful creatures, Nick. Like a regnant,” he finished.

“Shit.”

“You know her?”

“We’ve… met. If that’s her and it sounds like her, then her name is Adalind Schade and she tried to poison my aunt. I think she was responsible for her death in the end,” he said tonelessly.

Monroe blinked, unable to find the right words.

“If she serves the regnant, he is also responsible for Aunt Marie’s death. And now he protects me? Why, Monroe? Why me?”

Nick buried his fingers in his hair, raking them through the dark strands. Monroe got up and moved so lithely and smoothly over, it was very much the wolf right now. He placed his hands left and right on the armrests like he had done before, though this time there was no rage. Only worry and emotions Nick tried not to interpret right now.

Their lips met as Monroe closed the last gap and he nipped at Nick’s lips. The kiss deepened, became more, and Nick framed Monroe’s face, thumbs brushing over his beard. He made a soft noise, a mixture of need and desperation, and Monroe pushed further. He finally drew back and Nick licked over his lips, breathing hard.

“I can’t answer your questions. Whatever he is, whoever,” the blutbad whispered harshly, “he has no power over you, Nick. You’re a Grimm.”

“That doesn’t make me all-powerful.”

“It makes you perfect the way you are.”

Nick chuckled, touching Monroe’s face again, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “I’m a novice at this. I bumble around. I know next to nothing about creatures. And I scare the shit out of them most of the time.”

Monroe captured him in another kiss. “You are a Grimm. You have been a Grimm for a very brief time and you’ve done great so far. Really great.” Another kiss. “You are, Nick. Believe me.”

“Okay.” Nick smiled slightly.

“Nick…”

“I believe you. It’s just… a lot has been happening lately.”

Monroe smiled. “Yeah.” He knelt before his partner, one hand sliding over the scar underneath the shirt, knowing so well where it was, always running a caress over it when they were in bed together.

Nick caught his hand and interlaced their fingers. “I’m okay.” His voice was low, soft.

Monroe regarded him silently, then nodded. “You are okay.”

The scar was a sharp reminder of what he had nearly lost, how close it had been – while Nick hadn’t even been on Grimm duty. Or chasing a suspect. It had been some freak accident where he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Monroe didn’t need a regnant to tell him to keep Nick safe.

Not at all.


	14. Chapter 14

The weekend turned out to be nasty weatherwise. Sleet and hail made it uncomfortable to be outside, and the iced over roads annihilated all thoughts of driving anywhere.  
Not that either man wanted to.

Nick lay on the couch, comfortably watching a game, and Monroe was wrapping up two client projects to mail them the next time the weather let up and he could go to the post office.

“Could you draw me a picture of the regnant you saw?”

The sudden question had the blutbad look up from taping closed a box that contained a very expensive piece of antique clockwork.

“Why?”

Nick turned his head to look at him, the pale features thoughtful. “Maybe he is in the books. Maybe under another name, I looked at so many different creatures, maybe someone drew him and just labeled him differently.”

“Nick, I can barely draw a believable stick figure!”

“Then tell me.”

“You can draw?”

He shrugged. “Seems to be a Grimm talent.”

Monroe huffed a little laugh and put the box aside. “You have many.”

“And you haven’t complained so far,” came the sly reply.

The blutbad walked over to the couch and, moving so lithely and fast it was clearly not human, straddled the supine man. Nick laughed and answered the kiss, an arm around the broad shoulder, pulling Monroe to him.

“You really want to see my art?” he teased.

“Hm, yeah.” Nick reached up with his other hand, caressing his face. “Among other things.”

“What does it take to sex you out?” came the grousing complaint.

“I’m young and virile. Get used to it.”

Nick yelped when Monroe playfully nipped at his neck, tiny pinpricks of fangs showing. He bared his throat a little, just enough to get an interesting sheen of red, and the Grimm responded, eyes slate gray and challenging.

Monroe rumbled softly, brows drawn down, eyes intense. He pinned Nick’s hands and attacked his mouth again.

Screw the drawing, Nick thought dizzily as he arched into the kiss. This could wait.

He couldn’t.

The kiss turned into a battle of wills, for dominance, for more. Nick had grown pretty adept at sliding his tongue past the sharp teeth and the prickle of fangs was rather thrilling. He mock-struggled against the hold Monroe had on him and it resulted in an annoyed growl.

He grinned, rising to the bait, to the challenge, and the red eyes flared brighter. Nick raised his brows, a silent invitation and question in one, and Monroe shuddered.

“I want you,” he said out loud.

It was like the final blessing and the blutbad took his mouth in a rough kiss, pushing forward, demanding, claiming.

Nick groaned softly. “Clothes,” he whispered fervently when they separated. “And no, no claws.”

It got him a terrifying smile of all teeth and all wolf.

But Monroe looked very, very pleased when the Grimm was finally naked, hard and wanting more, and he was only too willing to give it to the other man.

Nick knew he wouldn’t be able to walk for a week…

*

Outside, the rain and sleet mix was no longer beating so viciously against the window panes. It had slowed a little, but there was no sign of it stopping within the next minutes. Many people finally hurried home, drenched already or getting drenched not much later as they tried to get to the next bus station or into their cars.

Inside the house, two men lay entwined in their embrace, bodies warm against each other, resting. Monroe felt each breath of his Grimm, each beat of his heart, and he splayed his fingers against the curve of his ribs. So soft and vulnerable and still so incredibly strong. A Grimm. With a little more experience Nick would be even more fierce and fearsome. He was a protector and always would be.

Not like the others.

Snuggling against the nude, spent form, feeling so pleasantly exhausted and sated, too, he let his thoughts taper off.

Nick was safe and warm against him, his heartbeat a pleasant lull, his scent strong and irreplaceable in Monroe’s nose.

Safe.

That was all that mattered.

His fingertips caressed over the scar, then he let his broad hand rest over the blemish to the pale skin.

Safe.

* * *

Monroe had been right that he really couldn’t draw that well, but Nick had a general idea of the regnant’s look and he had fleshed out the rough sketch by asking Monroe a few questions. The blutbad had been impressed by his talent and in the end it had led to an impromptu blowjob that had left him mellow and kind of braindead.

As before his partner had declined accompanying him to the trailer and Nick respected that.  
And as before he didn’t find anything on this mysterious regnant creature.

He had looked. He had gone through so many notes, words were blending together in front of his tired eyes. He had seen so many creatures, had read so much, crammed so much knowledge into his head, it felt like he was a walking encyclopedia now. He would always need Monroe’s deeper knowledge because all his predecessors had done was scribble down what they had thought might be true, their observations and thoughts. No one had really stopped and asked the right questions.

Nick asked. And he got answers.

But there was nothing on the regnant. Nothing new, at least. And if Marie had known about them she would have written it in her journal.

 

He came home three hours later, thoughtful, not really happy about something out there that was apparently not trying to kill him, but who also didn’t come to his rescue like some comic vigilante whenever he got into trouble.

Strange.

He knew he would have to push the regnant’s identity from his mind for now. There were enough cases, at work and as a Grimm, to keep him busy. Wondering about the regnant would only make him less attentive, maybe miss a detail, and something might blow up in his face at work or while out being a Grimm.

Of course, he could seek out Adalind Schade, press her for information, and get nowhere. She was a lawyer and she would move the right barriers into his way, maybe even get him off the police force if it served her. She had connections, Nick knew, and she would use them. That she served a politically powerful creature didn’t make her any less dangerous; she wasn’t someone to upset right now.

Monroe looked up from his latest project, a beautifully crafted antique clock, maybe close to two hundred years old, peering over his glasses.

“Nothing, hm?” he guessed.

“Nothing,” he confirmed and hung up his jacket.

It was freezing cold outside and Nick had no intention to go back out there if he didn’t have to. His face was red from the cold and he really needed to defreeze right now. The warmth of the house helped.

He stood in the living room, hands in his pockets, eyes wandering over the many little things that had changed. Monroe’s stuff cluttering the shelves. Monroe’s tools. His clocks. Books. There was an afghan he had brought along one day, hand-knit by his great-grandmother he had said. His clothes were in the closet, his toothbrush had been part of the bathroom for a long, long time now. And Nick’s house was part of his territory.

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” the Grimm asked quietly after a moment.

Monroe regarded him thoughtfully. “All creatures are dangerous one way or the other,” he answered slowly. “Look at that reinigen kid. His violin was his weapon. Your hare friend… I believe she would attack any single one of us if she has children and they are threatened. Regnants are pretty much unknown to my kind or the creature world, so everything’s a guessing game.”

Nick blew out a breath. “That’s not helping.”

“I never said I was omniscient, Nick.”

“You know more than I do.”

It got him a soft chuckle. “You’re new to this. Everything I tell you is more than you already know. But that’ll change.”

Nick gazed out the window again, lost in thought. “He wants you to protect me. That’s something I can’t wrap my head around. Why? And why now? Why not do it himself if it’s that important.”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s out there.”

Monroe frowned. “You can Grimm that?”

Nick smiled a little. “No. It’s just a fact. There’s a mysterious creature out there that’s not yet trying to kill me. That’s more weird than everyone else who’s out for my hide.”

Monroe rose and walked over to his mate, pulling him close, looking into the too serious gray eyes.

“No one’s gunning for you, Nick. Not actively. We creatures are too afraid of the mighty Grimm to chase you.” He placed a kiss on the smooth forehead.

“Were you afraid?”

Monroe smiled. “Yeah. You charged down out of the forest, chased me into my house, slammed me down and yelled at me. I think everyone would have been afraid of you, Nick.”

The Grimm sighed. “Sorry. At the time.. things were complicated and scary and seeing what you were… after I had seen that girl torn to pieces…”

The other man stopped him. “I know, Nick. And I know you didn’t want to kill me just because I was different back then. You went all cop on me, not Grimm. You are different. You always will be.”

“But Grimms have a reputation that gets in the way.”

“Dude, we all have reputations that get in the way. Look at me. I thought the reinigen kid would faint on me. I only wanted to talk.”

Nick nodded, wrapping his arms around the taller form, enjoying the solidity of Monroe’s body, the firmness.

“And you can’t let the idea of the regnant out there watching you influence your work,” his partner added.

“I won’t.” Nick brushed their lips together.

And if the mysterious creature reappeared one day, maybe face to face with Nick, he would try and get to the bottom of this. Until then, he would do his job as usual.

* * *

He knew that the blutbad couldn’t scent him, nor sense him in any other way. It was the great thing about being what he was: he was virtually undetectable unless he dropped his façade completely and showed those who could see creatures what he was. The Grimm had been around him so many times, had been right next to him, and he had only seen the human he portrayed.

The perfect camouflage, the perfect hunter, the perfect watcher.

Standing in the shadows, watching the house of Nick Burckhardt, a smile crossed the handsome features.

The Grimm was needed. It was why he tolerated this dangerous predator on his territory, why he would see to it that the reapers stayed away unless summoned. They had no jurisdiction here; no one had. It was his city, his territory, and he would make sure the Grimm was protected here.

Maybe even beyond.

His kind respected the Grimms and there had been a time when their kind had worked together. Regnants were guardians, Grimms were arbitrators. The perfect combination to protect a town. With Nick, this time might be there once more. The young Grimm was open to changes, was so different himself.

Turning, he walked down the street, hands in his pockets, enjoying the brisk, cold air.

*

Inside the house, Monroe took his time mapping Nick’s body with little nips, kisses and caresses, large, gentle hands sliding over the scar, the eyes taking on a red hue. Nick drew him into a kiss, trying to erase those memories, trying to soothe the anger at a misguided young man who had been tried and sentenced and locked away.

“Yours,” Nick whispered against the fangs. “Yours alone.”

The blutbad rumbled his pleasure, blanketing the willing form, tasting and touching and caressing the lithe man, unable to get enough of him.

“Mine,” he whispered roughly.

Nick smiled, accepting and warm and welcoming. His claim on Monroe was as absolute as the blutbad’s was on the Grimm.

They fell asleep, wrapped in each other, content and warm. Monroe knew that whatever happened next, it would never be Nick alone out there again.

* * *

Monroe had buried Hap at a small graveyard that was known to be frequented by mostly creature families. Here, in this almost neutral environment, no one cared who the deceased had been. Blutbad, ziegenvolk, hare or biber. The families had an unofficial, unspoken peace treaty here.

Hap had had no surviving family but Angelina, and she had been in the wind, thought Monroe thought he had smelled her around the grave site a day after the burial.

There had been no big ceremony. It had been simply and to the point. He hadn’t told Nick about it either.

Now he was with the Grimm at Hap’s grave for the first time.

“You could have told me,” Nick said softly.

Dressed against the icy wind, a thick woolen scarf and hat protecting him against the flakes that fell in ever-thicker growing clouds, his gray eyes were still piercing and strong.

Monroe just nodded. Now, looking back, he knew he should have. At the time the guilt had been eating him up. And the shame.

Nick had trusted him to protect Hap and he had failed miserably. He had been responsible for his friend’s death.

“Not your fault,” the Grimm murmured, bumping shoulders with him.

“I can’t easily forgive and forget, Nick.”

“I’m sure Hap has forgiven you.”

“He’s dead.”

It got him a raised brow. Monroe exhaled sharply. Hap had been that way. Easy, but not simple. Just… easy. His view of the world had been rather straight-forward.

His eyes were back on the simple stone with Hap’s full name, his date of birth, his death day. Monroe didn’t even know where Rolf had been buried when he had been killed. Angelina might know; Hap had known.

The snow was starting to obscure his eyes and he wiped fat flakes off his brows and lashes.

“Let’s go home,” he only said and turned away from the grave.

Nick followed him, silent, eyes flickering over the other gravestones. Maybe he was wondering how many of those in the graves had been killed by Grimms. Maybe he was simply looking for familiar names. Maybe it was just curiosity.

They had arrived with Nick’s car and Monroe slid into the passenger seat, buckling in, eyes faraway, mind running on empty. Nick was still silent, giving him the necessary time. He drove away from the graveyard and headed back home. The wipers busy kept the windshield clear of snow. When they had finally arrived, Nick switched off the engine and looked at his partner.

Monroe gave him a faint smile. “I’m okay.”

And it was the truth. Nothing but the truth. He would always carry the guilt of Hap’s death through his shortcomings with him, but he was okay.

Monroe leaned over, giving his partner, his Grimm, a kiss. “Really,” he added.

Nick looked at him, the intensity of his gaze making Monroe shiver, then he nodded.

“Let’s go inside,” he only said and pushed open the door to get out of the car.

Monroe followed, smiling a little at the flakes drifting down around them. Christmas was coming and he hadn’t even started with his decorations, something he was suddenly looking forward to.

Especially now that he had someone to share it with for the first time in so many years.

 

fin!

Hope you enjoyed yourselves.


End file.
